And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda by John Williamson

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


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