The clock stopped dead at half past four,
The time that Steve died in the war.
The bread and cheese were cut for tea,
And we all prayed for victory

Before we ate we stood to pray,
Not knowing Steve had died that day.
We prayed that God would stop the war.
Just as the clock struck half past four.

Our son, nineteen, so full of joy,
To fight for country, still a boy,
He’d been called up one month before,
And died that day at half past four.

Whilst in a field, far over sea.
Whilst we were sitting down for tea.
There would be tea for him no more.
The bullet struck at half past four.

How many lives were lost that day?
How many futures blown away?
How many hearts would beat no more?
The clock’s, and Steve’s, at half past four?

No more we hear the clock bell chime.
Like us, it ceased to know the time.
Like other casualties of war,
For us, time died at half past four.