• The days are long the nights are harsh
    our feet feel just like lead.
    The men are tired as wounded come in
    most of them are dead.
    We sit around the campfire and talk about our past
    Missing our families missing our friends
    and hope this war wont last.
    We lay inside our tents to sleep
    the ground is wet and cold.
    Were dreaming of the lovely day
    when we'll go marching home.
    We go to battle in the morn
    and march there all the way.
    Hoping that afterwards we'll live another day.
    When this war is over
    and many men have died.
    And the family's of the lost
    have hung their heads and cried.
    I'll be standing at the front for all of those in pain.
    Just take my hand and we'll go home
    and you'll never cry again.