| |
Now when I
was a young man I carried me pack
And I lived the free life of the rover.
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback
Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said,
"Son,
It's time you stop ramblin', there's work to be done."
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,
And they marched me away to the war.
And the band played "Waltzing Matilda". As
the ship pulled away from the quay,
And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli.
And how well I remember that horrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water;
And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter. Johnny
Turk, he was waitin', he primed himself well;
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell..
And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
But the band played "Waltzing Matilda".
When we stopped to bury our slain,
Well, we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again. And
those that were left, well, we tried to survive,
In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
Though around me the corpses piled higher. Then
a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
And when I woke up in me hospital bed
And saw what it had done, well, I wished I was dead...
Never knew there were worse things than dying.
For I'll go no more "Waltzing Matilda,"
All around the green bush far and free--
To hump tents and pegs, a man needs two legs, No more "Waltzing
Matilda" for me. So they
gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
And they shipped us back to Australia.
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship sailed into Circular Quay,
I looked at the place where my legs used to be,
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
To grieve, to mourn and to pity,
But the band played "Waltzing Matilda".
As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
Then they turned all their faces away. So
now every April, I sit on my porch
And I watch the parade pass before me.
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
Reviving old dreams of past glory. And
the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore,
They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
And the young people ask, #What are they marching for?"
And I ask meself the same question. And
the band plays "Waltzing Matilda,"
And the old men still answer the call. |
