| Last night I was dreaming of days that are gone
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| Of days that you might recall
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| And just like a photoplay upon my wall
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| Once more I saw it all;
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| It was just a dream you see
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| But how real it seemed to be
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| I saw buddies true, marching two by two
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| In my dream of the Big Parade
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| I saw angels fair with the Red Cross there
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| In my dream of the Big Parade
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| I saw Gold Star Mothers, sisters and brothers
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| What a sacrifice they made;
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| I saw one-legged pals coming home to their gals
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| In my dream of the Big Parade
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| Millions of soldiers, millions of men
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| All going over — I see them again
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| Oceans of water, submarines, too:
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| Millions of sailors helping them through
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| Millions of doughboys landing in Brest
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| Marching, marching, never a rest
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| Millions of bullets thundering past
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| Millions of bodies, wounded and gassed
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| Valleys of ruin, mountains of mud
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| Beautiful rivers and rivers of blood
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| Airplanes flying, bombs coming down
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| Millions of cooties crawling around
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| Pieces of shrapnel, pieces of shell
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| Many a cross where somebody fell
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| Fighting and fighting a horrible war
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| And God only knows what you’re fighting it for
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| Then came November, that armistice day
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| Out of a trench, into a cafe
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| Paddy, (?), Jimmy, and Jack
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| Over their bottles of wine and cognac
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| Telling their love tales to Gene and George
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| Yet little French girls they had to forget
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| Ahh, then came the journey over the foam
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| But all that went over didn’t come home
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| I saw Gold Star Mothers, sisters and brothers
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| What a sacrifice they made;
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| I saw one-legged pals coming home to their gals
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| In my dream of the Big Parade |