| Poor little soldier, the war is all done
|
| So tug off your medal and empty your gun
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| They found you a pillow to lay down your head
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| So hang up your hang-ups and climb into bed
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| There’s a chime on the hour and a light in the hall
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| And a picture of nothing in a frame on the wall
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| And there’s rain on the rooftops to the north of the shire
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| And the trains run the coal through the heart of the night
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| You fought for your country you fought for your queen
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| Now everyone’s happy, now everyone’s free
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| And God help the bastard who says it’s not so
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| And God help the bastard 'cause what does he know?
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| Sleep in the knowledge that England is brave
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| For each loss of breath is a life that you saved
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| The angels will guard you, they’ll tend to your brow
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| Poor little soldier, come lay your head down
|
| There’s a chime on the hour and a light in the hall
|
| And a picture of nothing in a frame on the wall
|
| And there’s rain on the rooftops to the north of the shire
|
| And the trains run the coal through the heart of the night |