| Far and wide as the eye can wonder
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| Heath and bog are everywhere
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| Not a bird sings out to cheer us
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| Oaks are standing gaunt and bare.
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| We are the peat bog soldiers,
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| Marching with our spades to the moor.
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| Up and down the guards are marching,
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| No one, no one can get through.
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| Flight would mean a sure death facing,
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| Guns and barbed wire block our view.
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| We are the peat bog soldiers,
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| Marching with our spades to the moor.
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| But for us there is no complaining,
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| Winter will in time be past.
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| One day we shall rise rejoicing.
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| Homeland, dear, you’re mine at last.
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| Then we’re the peat bogs soldiers,
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| March no more with spades to the moor. |