Waltzing Matilda

[ciroccoj]

I know it's nowhere near ANZAC day, but Rememberance Day always makes me think of this song.


The Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Eric Bogle

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,
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.

How well I remember that terrible day,
When our blood stained the sand and the water;
And how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was ready, he primed himself well;
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell --
And in five minutes flat, we were all blown to hell,
Nearly blew us back home to Australia.

But the band played "Waltzing Matilda,"
When we stopped to bury our slain,
We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.

And those who were living just tried to survive
In that mad world of death blood and fire.
For ten weary weeks I kept myself alive
While 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 --
I never knew there was worse things than dying.

For no more I'll go Waltzing Matilda,
All around the green bush far and free --
To hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more Waltzing Matilda for me.

They collected the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
And they shipped us back home 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 me legs used to be,
And thanked Christ there was no one there waiting for me,
To grieve, or to mourn, or to pity.

And 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.

And 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,
Reliving old dreams of past glory,
I see the old men march tired, stiff and sore,
The forgotten heroes from a forgotten war,
And the young people ask "What are they marching for?"
And I ask meself the same question.

But the band plays "Waltzing Matilda,"
And the old men still answer the call,
Ah but year after year, their numbers get fewer,
Someday, no one will march there at all.

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda.
Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,
Who'll come a-Waltzing Matilda with me?