Dead Mates – Lest We Forget

Dead Mates Going to war on a hot summer’s day, To battle on the shore of Gallipoli’s bay. Battling the enemy they’re feeling fine, When the enemy thinks they’ve crossed the line. The enemy’s blow is like a fist of metal, The dreaded pain like a stinging nettle. The mates you’ve made while coming here, … [Read the full story]