And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda

When I was a young man, I carried me kack
And I lived, the free life of the rover.
From the Murray's Green Basin, to the Dusty Out Back.
I Waltzed my Matilda all over.

Then in 1915, my Country said Son.
It's time to stop ramblin, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun
And they sent me away to the war.

And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As our ship pulled away from the key.
And amid all the cheers, flag waving and tears.
We sailed off to Galipolli.

When I remember that terrible day,
When our blood, stained the sand and the water,
And how in that hell, that they called Suvla Bay.
We were butchered, like lambs at the slaughter.

Johnnie Turk he was ready, Oh he primed himself well.
He rained us with bullets and shot us with shell
And in five minutes flat, we were all blown to hell.
Nearly blew us back home to Australia.

But the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As we stuck to bury our slain.
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again...

Those who were living just tried to survive.
In a mad world of blood death and fire
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive.
While around me the corpses piled higher.

Then a big Turkish shell, knocked me arse over head
And when I awoke, in me hospital bed.
I saw what it had done and I wished I were dead.
I never knew there were worse things than dying.

For I'll go no more Waltzing Matilda,
All round the green bush far and near.
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs.
No more Waltzing Matilda for me.

They collected the crippled, the wounded, the maimed
And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.

And as our ship pulled into circular key
And I looked at the place where my legs used to be.
I thanked Christ, there was no one there waiting for me.
To grieve and to mourn, or to pity...

And the band played Waltzing Matilda.
As they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared
And they turned all their faces away...

So now every April, I sit on my porch
And I watch, the parade pass before me.
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
Renewing their dreams of past glory.

I see the old men, all tired, stiff and sore.
The weary old heroes, of a forgotten war
And the young people ask, what are they marching for
And I ask myself the same question...

And the band played Waltzing Matilda.
And the old men still answer the call.
But year after year, the numbers grow fewer.
Some day no one will march there at all...

Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
Who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard, as you pass by the billabong.
Who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me...
***********
At the going down of the sun
And in the morning
We will remember them...
May God give His grace to all!
Amen...

Posted in Rememberance
by Sir Richard.