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Mike Harding - The Band Played Waltzing Matilda lyrics
Now when I was a young man, I carried me pack, and I lived the free life of a 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, you roving days are over, there's a job 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 quay Amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears, we sailed off for Gallipoli How well I remember that terrible day, the blood stained the sand and the water And there in that hell that they called Suvla Bay, we were butchered like lambs to the slaughter. Johnny Turk he was waiting, he'd primed himself well. He rained us with bullets, And showered us with shell. And in ten minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell Nearly blew us right back to Australia. But the band played Waltzing Matilda, as we stopped to bury our slain. 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 death, blood and fire And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive, around me the corpses piled higher Then a big Turkish shell knocked me all to hell, when I woke up in my hospital bed, And saw what it had done, well I wished I was dead. Never knew there was worse things than dying. For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda, all around the bush far and free To hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs - no more waltzing Matilda for me. So they gathered the wounded, the crippled and lame, sent us back home to Australia. The armless, the legless, the blind and insane, brave wounded heroes of Suvla And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay, I looked at the place where me legs used to be. And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me, to grieve, to mourn, or to pity. But the band played Waltzing Matilda, as they carried us down the gangway. Nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared, then they turned their faces away So now every April, I sit on me porch, see the parades pass before me. And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march, reviving old dreams of past glories The old men march slowly, old bones stiff and sore, tired old men from a forgotten war And the young people ask, what are they marching for? And I ask myself the same question. And the band plays Waltzing Matilda, and the old men still answer the call, But as year follows year, more old men disappear. Someday no one will march there at all. |
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