Why do you still march old man?
With those medals on your chest
Why do you still grieve old man?
For those friends you laid to rest
Why do you eyes gleam old man?
When you hear those bugles blow.
Tell me why you cry old man,
For those days so long ago
Ill tell you why I march young man,
With these medals on my chest,
Ill tell you why I grieve young man,
For those friends I laid to rest,
Through misty folds of gossamer silk,
So young they were with blossomed cheeks,
There eyes shone bright and clear,
Scant knowledge of this sinful world
Thought naught of hate and fear,
Their laughter rang through strange bare rooms,
Hardships, they were soon to know,
All they knew was beyond their shores,
Was a deadly vicious foe
They left behind their boring life,
They had nothing much to give,
So they laid their lives on the line,
So you, Young man can live.
With bayonet, gun and blossomed cheeks,
The innocence of their youth,
They stood. Alone with fearsome pride,
And perceived the awful truth,
The truth they learnt, they had to die,
It’s not easy when you’re young,
The Gods of war had chosen them,
And stilled their youthful tongues
The guns they crashed… The stukas dived,
Shells tore their flesh asunder.
I smelt their blood, I watched them die,
As war lords claimed their plunder.
And as these Warrior Gods passed by,
The smiled at their obscene death…
Gone were the apple- blossom cheeks,
Scorched by napalm pernicious breath
We buried them in a blanket shroud
Their young flesh scorched and blackened
A communal grave newly gouged
In the blood stained gorse and bracken.
And you ask me why I march… young man.
But…. For those apple blossomed youths,
Freedom…. Would have been lost to all.
They shall not grow old, as we who are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn,
At the going down of the Sun, and in the morning,
WE WILL REMEMBER THEM.
