In the Tower fields the poppies blow
Between the ghosts row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The ahamkara, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the battle in the dark below.
We were the gaurdians Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw mercury's glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we die
In the Towers fields.
Take up our quarrel with the fallen:
To you from failing hands we throw
The mida; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not rise, though poppies grow
In the Tower fields.
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