| Our history speaks in thunder from a thousand village halls
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| In blood and sweat and sacrifice, in honouring every call
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| So the forces gathered against the thorn a-piercing in their side
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| A brave new world is beckoning so the olden world must die.
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| In the offices of the city, at all the tables of oak and power
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| The snares are laid and baited for the approaching of the hour
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| A hundred justifications and the presses are ready to roll
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| The gateways to the nation they are firmly under control
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| On, on, on, cried the leaders at the back
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| We went galloping down the blackened hills
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| And into the gaping trap
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| The bridges are burnt behind us and there’s waiting guns ahead
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| Into the valley of death rode the brave hundreds
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| We called for some assistance from the friends that we had known
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| But this is the 1980s and we were on our own
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| We never felt like heroes or martyrs to a cause
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| Just battle-weary soldiers in a bloody civil war
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| The massacre now is over and the order new enshrined
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| While a quarter of the nation are abandoned far behind
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| Their leaders offer the clich words, so righteous in defeat
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| But no one needs morality when there isn’t enough to eat
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| The unity bond is broken and the loyalty songs are fake
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| I’ll screw my only brother for even a glimpse at a piece of the cake
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| We only cry in private here behind the shuttered glass
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| When we think of the charge of this brigade, the severing of the past
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| On, on, on, cried the leaders at the back
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| We went galloping down the blackened hills
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| And into the gaping trap
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| The bridges are burnt behind us and there’s waiting guns ahead
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| Into the valley of death rode the brave hundreds |