| Far and wide as the eye can wander
|
| Heath and bog are everywhere
|
| Not a bird sings out to cheer us
|
| Oaks are standing gaunt and bare
|
| Chorus:
|
| We are the Peat Bog Soldiers
|
| Marching with our spades
|
| To the moor
|
| Up and down the guards are pacing
|
| No one, no one can get through
|
| Flight would mean a sure death facing
|
| Guns and barbed wire greet our view
|
| Chorus
|
| But for us there is no complaining
|
| Winter will in time be past.
|
| One day we will cry rejoicing
|
| «Homeland dear, you’re mine at last'
|
| Then will the peatbog soldiers
|
| March no more with their spades
|
| To the moor. |