Purple skyline,
on a distant shore.
A land once Paradise.
But no-one comes here anymore.
Only footprints,
left by others here before.
As they landed on the beaches,
and ran to take their place in war.

Twisted metal,
from the war machines of man.
Burning in the sun;
half buried in the golden sand.
I watch the surf,
from here, where I now stand,
through which honeymoon young lovers,
once went walking hand in hand.

Darkened daylight,
where the planes once flew.
They stole your sun,
then the lovers left you, too.
So much beauty,
that they took from you,
when the war machine of man,
upon your land came pushing through.
The land of gentle summer breezes,
that only honeymoon young lovers ever knew.