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The Band Played Waltzing Matilda, Eric Bogle |
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When I was a young man I carried me pack |
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And I lived the free life of the rover |
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From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback |
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I waltzed my Matilda all over |
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Then in 1915 my country said: Son, |
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It's time to stop rambling, there's work to be done |
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So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun |
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And they sent me away to the war |
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And the band played Waltzing Matilda |
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When the ship pulled away from the quay |
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And amid all the tears, flag waving and cheers |
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We sailed off for Gallipoli |
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It well I remember that terrible day |
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When our blood stained the sand and the water |
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And how in that hell they call Suvla Bay |
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We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter |
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Johnny Turk, he was ready, he primed himself well |
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He rained us with bullets, and he showered us with shell |
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And in five minutes flat, we were all blown to hell |
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He nearly blew us back home to Australia |
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And the band played Waltzing Matilda |
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When we stopped to bury our slain |
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Well we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs |
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Then it started all over again |
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Oh those that were living just tried to survive |
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In that mad world of blood, death and fire |
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And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive |
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While around me the corpses piled higher |
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Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head |
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And when I awoke in me hospital bed |
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And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead |
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I never knew there was worse things than dying |
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Oh no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda |
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All around the green bush far and near |
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For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs |
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No more waltzing Matilda for me |
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They collected the wounded, the crippled, the maimed |
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And they shipped us back home to Australia |
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The armless, the legless, the blind and the insane |
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Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla |
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And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay |
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I looked at the place where me legs used to be |
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And thank Christ there was no one there waiting for me |
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To grieve and to mourn and to pity |
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And the Band played Waltzing Matilda |
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When they carried us down the gangway |
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Oh nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared |
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Then they turned all their faces away |
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Now every April I sit on my porch |
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And I watch the parade pass before me |
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I see my old comrades, how proudly they march |
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Renewing their dreams of past glories |
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I see the old men all tired, stiff and worn |
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Those weary old heroes of a forgotten war |
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And the young people ask "What are they marching for?" |
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And I ask myself the same question |
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And the band plays Waltzing Matilda |
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And the old men still answer the call |
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But year after year, their numbers get fewer |
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Someday, no one will march there at all |
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Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda |
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Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me? |
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And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong |
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So who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me? |
