Harold land

Now he's marching soldiers in the rain as on to war they rode.
A long thin line of human mind, damnation as their load.
In the mud in coldness dark, he'd shiver out his fear,
What disappointing sights he'd seen instead of ones so dear,
Instead of ones so dear, so dear.

Going home, He's going home to the land he loved so well.
Going home, He fought for two years, never fell.
Going home, He's going home,
Going home. He's going home.

Harold Land with a wave of his hand stood sadly on the stage,
Clutching red ribbons from a badge, but he didn't look his age.
Only two years had passed between his leaving home and back;
He had lost his love and youth while
leading the attack, leading the attack.