[Intro]
28 June 1914 — Sarajevo, a pistol's thin report,
Maps move in parlors while the lines stitch up the court.
I fold a photograph, stamp the proof on the seam,
This is my letter home — listen to the steam.
[Verse 1 — The Conscript]
I was a butcher's son, born where the rails meet soot,
Furnace breath on my collar, rivets singing in the boot.
National flags at windows, pride like iron rails,
Speeches in the square, petitions in the pail.
They fed us words — glory, duty, king and crown,
But the boiler room hummed a different kind of sound.
My name on a roster, my leave stamped in black,
Mother's hands ironed my collar, the ledger took me back.
[Pre-Chorus]
Bugle like a question, timetables cold and tight,
Trains clack like sentences — mobilization by night.
A plan drawn on paper (Schlieffen's shadow in the fold),
Alliances whisper steel — the continent grows bold.
[Chorus — Hook]
Shadows of the Great War — names in mud, not fame.
Train timetables and telegrams — history learned in flame.
[Verse 2 — Homefront & Others]
Lina at the press, palms black with ink and coal,
She counts the shells like ledger lines — the factory takes its toll.
From Dakar to Delhi, voices braided into steam,
A colonial boy toes the line, dreaming someone else's dream.
Postmarked nights, letters folded small, ink bled with rain,
He reads his mother's hush, I write home with a stain.
No map cares for faces; borders carve by hands unseen,
But the same mud takes the feet of peasant, prince, and queen.
[Pre-Chorus 2]
Gas lights like green glass, a smear across the dawn,
Barbed wire sings a siren, fields wear the iron fawn.
Mobilization timetables — trains won't wait for thought,
Declarations like hot wire — the gears are tightly caught.
[Chorus — Hook]
Shadows of the Great War — names in mud, not fame.
Train timetables and telegrams — history learned in flame.
[Bridge — Rap Breakdown (tight cadence, 16 bars)]
1914, Sarajevo — one shot split a map in half,
Paper alliances, secret clauses, an old war's math.
Schlieffen on the draft, sweep left, a quick-designed path,
Trains clack 72 hours — timetables breathe the wrath.
Lines drawn, men pawned on steel, quick march, no delay,
Posters on the lamp posts, posters rip but the boys obey.
Furnace breath and lathe-song, rivets rhythm the refrain,
Artillery answers morning, shell-doors hush the train.
Gas bellows green and slow — lungs count in whispered snaps,
Trench water mirrors sky, letters curl with maps.
Colonial drums in cadence — voices far yet near,
Brotherhood in mud and wire, all the names they fear.
Short breaths, clipped rhymes, I pace these measured steps,
Counting days by rations, by the dates on telegrams kept.
We traded flags for barbed wire, an empire's credit drawn,
Now it's names in mud and memory 'til the last dawn.
[Chorus — Variation / Lesson]
Shadows of the Great War — names in mud, not fame.
We learned the dates — 11/11/18 — silence after the flame.
[Outro]
Remember the timetables, the furnace and�
