The Unquiet Zone - Procol Harum

They seek us in this unquiet zone

They chase us on from hole to hole

They hunt us down like carrion crows

They search us out like frightened moles

We huddled close against the ground

Scared to make the slightest sound

And all around the great guns boom

The constant march of pending doom

This surely is a dreadful war

An awful waste of guts and gore

An awful waste of human life

This senseless, bloody, bitter strife