tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29101447.post1732220074156491429..comments2023-11-18T11:49:19.163+11:00Comments on Bairnsdale Conservative: And The Band Played Waltzing MatildaDaoDDBallhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14116429233512306142noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29101447.post-38356031380243988982008-04-18T16:01:00.000+10:002008-04-18T16:01:00.000+10:00When I was a young man I carried my packAnd I live...When I was a young man I carried my pack<BR/>And I lived the free life of a rover<BR/>From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback<BR/>I waltzed my Matilda all over<BR/>Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son<BR/>It's time to stop rambling 'cause there's work to be done<BR/>So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun<BR/>And they sent me away to the war<BR/>And the band played Waltzing Matilda<BR/>As we sailed away from the quay<BR/>And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the cheers<BR/>We sailed off to Gallipoli<BR/><BR/>How well I remember that terrible day<BR/>How the blood stained the sand and the water<BR/>And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay<BR/>We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter<BR/>Johnny Turk he was ready, he primed himself well<BR/>He chased us with bullets, he rained us with shells<BR/>And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell<BR/>Nearly blew us right back to Australia<BR/>But the band played Waltzing Matilda<BR/>As we stopped to bury our slain<BR/>We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs<BR/>Then we started all over again<BR/><BR/>Now those that were left, well we tried to survive<BR/>In a mad world of blood, death and fire<BR/>And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive<BR/>But around me the corpses piled higher<BR/>Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit<BR/>And when I woke up in my hospital bed<BR/>And saw what it had done, I wished I was dead<BR/>Never knew there were worse things than dying<BR/>For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda<BR/>All around the green bush far and near<BR/>For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs two legs<BR/>No more waltzing Matilda for me<BR/><BR/>So they collected the cripples, the wounded, the maimed<BR/>And they shipped us back home to Australia<BR/>The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane<BR/>Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla<BR/>And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay<BR/>I looked at the place where my legs used to be<BR/>And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me<BR/>To grieve and to mourn and to pity<BR/>And the band played Waltzing Matilda<BR/>As they carried us down the gangway<BR/>But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared<BR/>Then turned all their faces away<BR/><BR/>And now every April I sit on my porch<BR/>And I watch the parade pass before me<BR/>And I watch my old comrades, how proudly they march<BR/>Reliving old dreams of past glory<BR/>And the old men march slowly, all bent, stiff and sore<BR/>The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war<BR/>And the young people ask, "What are they marching for?"<BR/>And I ask myself the same question<BR/>And the band plays Waltzing Matilda<BR/>And the old men answer to the call<BR/>But year after year their numbers get fewer<BR/>Some day no one will march there at all<BR/><BR/>Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda<BR/>Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me<BR/>And their ghosts may be heard as you pass the Billabong<BR/>Who'll come-a-waltzing Matilda with me?Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com