Down Great George Street, up to the station;
The skirl of the pipes the very thrill of your nerves
With the pipemaster (only man who has the Gaelic)
Ahead with his great baton, his strut and toss proud
as many man who's ever walked.
This is where we came in; this has happened before
Only the last time there was cheering.
So few came back they changed the name of the regiment
So there's no cheers now. Tho there are crowds
Standing silent, eyes wide as dolls eyes, but brighter
Trying to memorize every face
This is where we came in. It happened before.
The last time was foolishness
Now's got to be done because of the last foolishness.
In the ranks, perfectly in step (with the pipes
even I'm perfectly in step)
I'm thinking of TRHOUGH THE LOOKING GLASS :
The White King's armies marching while he sleeps;
We are his dream... At least it seems that way.
They're so clumsy the front line topples
The second line topples over it; and on it goes
- line after line, eyes glazed straight forward
Shoulders back, spines held stiffly unnatural
Toppling over the line before
So few came back they abolished the regiment.
I was lucky - sickness and bad marksmanship.
Man by man we'd sworn to take our guns back,
man by man we didn't.
One man - one war - that's all he's usually good for.
Now a strange short-haired subculture
Glares at us out of the TV set
Snarling the news, every phrase or disguised opinion
as if it was a threat, which it is.
This is where we came in
It's happened before.
This last time was right
But ended in foolishness.
It has happened before.
It will happen again.
To end in foolishness?
