Look up the stars tonight, the same stars I looked upon that night.
The night I lost my greatest friend, to Britain's one and only traitor.
Sergeant horrible Hanley, the one who shot him dead,
Now roasts among the fires of hell, his mark still scarring us.
Scarring us with the pain of Charlie's unjust death.
The Nazis were annoying pests, compared the devil himself.
He dragged men like us from our homes, and watched us die in this dark hell hole.
But oh he killed my Charlie, my kind sweet loving Charlie.
On a night still and clear when the birds sang for Charlie.
Charlie loved the birds the way they sang and flew.
He loved their ease in flight and their sweet and pure freedom.
And now he lies buried in the earth but his soul is up with them.
Free to fly through the air like a leaf in the autumn breeze.
He's up with father now at the top of Big Joe's church spire.
Where he lies undisturbed, oblivious to a world at war.
The world seems grey without him, dull, grey and miserable.
All colour and life drained away, when Charlie fell that night.
He was singing as he died, out of hate to Sergeant Hanley.
And the look in Charlie's eyes, as Hanley pulled the trigger,
Was not the look of defeat, but the look of a war begun.
A war greater than guns and ammo, more heartfelt and numbing,
Where Hanley for one wouldn't stand a chance, as he held a heart of stone.
But I swear as Charlie fell, and dropped his knowing head,
That Hanley flinched ever so slightly, at the sight of Charlie dead.
And we sang with Charlie on that night,
On a night still and clear, when the birds sang for Charlie.
Charlie and I were like best friends, who stayed together no matter what.
And when the war came we faced the lot, ups downs and endless drills.
Nothing could part us, not even gas,
When we all were blinded and couldn't attack.
Standing petrified like hunted animals, being sought out by tendrils of gas.
But Charlie found me and then nothing mattered.
I was safe again, with Charlie my brother, until we were caught by the gas.
On we stumbled retching and vomiting, back to the dugout.
Where we were met by a furious Hanley,
But even that couldn't prise us apart; we were like limpets on a rock.
Who held together on a night still and clear, when the birds sang for Charlie.
Oh the memories, the memories that hurt like bruises.
Hurt like cuts and broken bones that'll never heal and never fade.
Memories of our childhood, those carefree happy days,
When all was just as it should be, and the war was just another faze.
The days when the river was full of trout and the forest full of rabbits.
The nights perfect for poaching, in the colonel's fresh running river.
Nights when big Joe and bertha would sit up in their tree, and sing oranges and lemons to the setting sun.
On nights still and clear, when the birds sang for Charlie.
Sergeant Hanley hated Charlie, from the moment they first met.
A blot on creation Hanley screamed, in Charlie's right own face.
"Happy to be here" was Charlie's reply, fearless but hardly true.
So Hanley hated Charlie, and faulted anything he would do.
But no-one thought that Hanley so, would murder a fellow Englishman.
However though he proved us wrong, but paid for it with his life,
The firing squad was Hanley's end, and we were cheered by the wrong,
But we had faced a massive loss, as Charlie now was gone.
And as we marched towards Charlie's unknown fate, Hanley fired the shots.
Down went my Charlie, my kind, sweet loving Charlie, fell down into the stinking mud.
On a night still and clear, when the birds sang for Charlie.
The war is over now, but its curse still threatens us.
Reminds us of our darkest days, with ruined cities and broken hearts.
But the most broken heart of all, belonged to my beloved Molly.
Torn apart by the death of Charlie and the birth of baby Tommo,
She mourned in her own quiet way, whilst planning her hopeless revenge.
Days past while she wasted away, until one night she joined her Charlie, her heart no need to mend, as Charlie was the cure.
So now I'm left with Tommo and an old pocket watch.
To give to Tommo when he's older and when my pain has ceased.
Old enough to know the treachery that killed his father, broke his mother and left me in pieces.
Look up at the stars tonight, the same stars I looked upon that night.
By Aimee Satur