The March
Left, left, left right left
Left, left, left right left
I hear the tramp of weary feet in the stifling midday heat
As the soldiers make their way along a roadway ripped and rough
But the early morning smiles wear away along the miles
And the peels of cheery laughter turn to gruff
Laden packs that feel like lead, weighing down on wobbly legs
Their shoulders getting knotted as the back straps rub and burn
Shuffling along like lines of cattle, not keen again for battle
Nor the suffering nor the screaming nor the stomach all a’churn.
Left, left, left right left
Muscles hard and body weary, and eyes too quick go teary,
As they think of all the dying and the terrors of the fight
Blistered feet all swollen, the battalion keeps on rollin’
Longing for a hot feed and a rough bed for the night
While crossing the wild brown yonder, their thoughts begin to wander
And they wonder at the strange things that come into their mind
In their madness, and their sadness, there’s a touch of joyful gladness
Recalling home and hearth and families, and loved ones left behind
Left, left, left right left
Left, left, left right left
I hear the tramp of weary feet in the stifling midday heat
As the soldiers make their way along a roadway ripped and rough
But the early morning smiles wear away along the miles
And the peels of cheery laughter turn to gruff
Laden packs that feel like lead, weighing down on wobbly legs
Their shoulders getting knotted as the back straps rub and burn
Shuffling along like lines of cattle, not keen again for battle
Nor the suffering nor the screaming nor the stomach all a’churn.
Left, left, left right left
Muscles hard and body weary, and eyes too quick go teary,
As they think of all the dying and the terrors of the fight
Blistered feet all swollen, the battalion keeps on rollin’
Longing for a hot feed and a rough bed for the night
While crossing the wild brown yonder, their thoughts begin to wander
And they wonder at the strange things that come into their mind
In their madness, and their sadness, there’s a touch of joyful gladness
Recalling home and hearth and families, and loved ones left behind
Left, left, left right left
Blistered feet are burning and their wary minds are yearning
For the comfort of the campfire and a smoke with all their mates
They’ll talk of well-fought battles and of the chill of deathly rattles
When the fallen gasp their last breaths as they greet the Pearly Gates.
’neath the dark and masking sky, sad men sneak off silently to cry
For those who fell beside them, mates they’ll never see again
But the call to arms resounds, and those moulding under mounds
Are replaced by fresh-faced conscripts who’ve not yet grown to men
Left, left, left right left
Sounds like distant thunder rends their nerve ends all asunder
’cos it’s not the storms and lightning, but big guns that light the night
The real burden that they’re wearing, is the one that has them caring
That in this bloody business, are they doing wrong, or right?
© Ian McDougall 2007
For the comfort of the campfire and a smoke with all their mates
They’ll talk of well-fought battles and of the chill of deathly rattles
When the fallen gasp their last breaths as they greet the Pearly Gates.
’neath the dark and masking sky, sad men sneak off silently to cry
For those who fell beside them, mates they’ll never see again
But the call to arms resounds, and those moulding under mounds
Are replaced by fresh-faced conscripts who’ve not yet grown to men
Left, left, left right left
Sounds like distant thunder rends their nerve ends all asunder
’cos it’s not the storms and lightning, but big guns that light the night
The real burden that they’re wearing, is the one that has them caring
That in this bloody business, are they doing wrong, or right?
© Ian McDougall 2007
