| A young man he came, from far and away
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| To the front on a cold winter’s day
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| Just a poor farmer’s son, was given a gun
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| And the hope of glory to come
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| Now the old winds of war, they will blow, they will soar
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| From the east, as the guns start to roar
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| But they would not surrender
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| The pride inside their hearts
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| When we walk through the fields
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| Over blood that was spilled
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| For your fatherland
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| For the freedom they gave
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| With their names on the graves
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| For our fatherland
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| Come on, raise your hands
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| Out in the trenches, down on their knees
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| Wait for the storm to unleash
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| The enemy’s name, the fear it remains
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| It be over in three weeks they say
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| But they would not surrender
|
| The pride inside their hearts
|
| When we walk through the fields
|
| Over blood that was spilled
|
| For our fatherland
|
| For the freedom they gave
|
| With their names on the graves
|
| For our fatherland
|
| Come one, raise your hands
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| All the mothers who cried over soldiers who died
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| For our fatherland
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| For the freedom they gave
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| With their names on the graves
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| For our fatherland
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| Come on, raise your hands |