Well I’ve lain in the dirt now for many’s the year,
and I’ve seen cowards fight and I’ve seen brave men’s fear.
I’ve witnessed their laughter, their songs and their tears;
I’m a spent cartridge case on the Somme.

My body is rusted and bent now with age,
ah, but once I was young, full of hatred and rage!
Back in 1916 history turned a dread page;
I’m a spent cartridge case on the Somme.

It was my destiny on the first of July,
as the larks sang above in a cloudless blue sky,
for to sentence a young soldier boy there to die;
I’m a spent cartridge case on the Somme.

Now the guns are long silent, the trenches are green,
and a peaceful sun shines on a poppy-strewn scene.
White headstones cast shadows where heroes have been;
I’m a spent cartridge case on the Somme.

This morning they found me, and out from the clay
I was pulled by a man in the harsh light of day,
just a small souvenir of a tourist’s brief stay;
I’m a spent cartridge case on the Somme.