The scent of thyme carried on the wind
stings your face into remembering:
cruel nature has won again.
On Battleship Hill's caved-in trenches,
a hateful feeling still lingers,
even now, 80 years later.
Cruel nature.
Cruel, cruel nature.
The land returns to how it has always been:
the scent of thyme carried on the wind,
jagged mountains, jutting out,
cracked like teeth in a rotten mouth.
On Battleship Hill I hear the wind say:
"Cruel nature has won again."