On a lazy fading summer.
Upon the sleeping flowing streams.
Hear the beating of the drummer
Within young hearts deep in our dreams

Distant and near and soft and loud
See them marching bravely by
Young and handsome in the clouds
Marching to a field to die.

Far and near in wars forgotten
Tiny crosses where they are lain
Young and handsome dead and rotten
Never to come home again

Hear the soulful bugles cry
Red flowing on the battleground
See teardrops in a mothers eyes
As youth lies wasted without a sound.