And the Band Played Waltzing MatildaEric BogleNow when wasayoung man, I carried mepack,Andlived the freelifeof a rover.From theMurray's green basintothedustyoutback,Well, I waltzed myMatilda all over.Then in 1915, mycountrysaidson,It'stime youstoppedrambling,there's worktobedone.So theygave meatinhat,andtheygave meagun,Andthey marched me awaytothe war.AndthebandplayedWaltzingMatilda,As the ship pulledaway from the quay,And amidstall the cheers, the flag-waving and tears,We sailedoff for Gallipoli.Andhow well Iremember thatterribleday,Howourbloodstainedthesand andthewater.Andofhow in thathellthattheycalled SuvlaBay,Wewere butchered like lambs atthe slaughter.JohnnyTurkhewaswaiting,he'dprimedhimselfwell.He shower'duswith bullets,Andherainedus withshell.Andin fiveminutes flat,he'dblownusallto hell,Nearly blew usrightbacktoAustralia.But thebandplayedWaltzingMatilda,When westoppedtoburyourslain.We buriedours, andthe Turks buriedtheirs,Then westartedallover again.And those that wereleft, well we triedtosurvive,Inthatmadworld ofblood,deathandfire.And for tenweary weeks, I keptmyselfalive,Though around me the corpsespiledhigher.Then abig Turkish shell knockedmearse over head,And whenIwoke up in myhospital bed,Andsawwhatit haddone,well IwishedI wasdead.Never knew therewasworse thingsthan dyin'.For I'llgonomorewaltzingMatilda,Allaround thegreen bush far andfree.For tohump tent and pegs, a manneeds both legs,No morewaltzingMatilda for me.So they gathered thecrippled, the wounded,The maimed, and theyshipped us back hometoAustralia.The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane,Those proud wounded heroes ofSuvla.Andas ourship pulled into Circular Quay,I looked at theplace where me legs used tobe.Andthanked Christ there was nobodywaiting forme,To grieve, tomourn, and topity.But thebandplayed Waltzing Matilda,As theycarried us down thegangway.But nobody cheered, they just stood there andstared,Then they turned all their faces away.Andso now every April, I sit onme porch,And Iwatch theparades pass before me.And I see myold comrades, how proudly they march,Reviving old dreams ofpast glories.Andthe old menmarch slowly, old bones stiff and sore.They're tired old heroes from aforgotten war,And the young people ask, what are theymarching for?And Iask myself the same question.But thebandplays Waltzing Matilda,And theold men still answer thecall,But as year follows year, more old men disappear.Someday noone willmarch there atall.Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, who'll comea-waltzing Matilda with me? And their ghosts maybe heard as theymarch bythat billabong,Who’ll comea-waltzing Matilda with me?
And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda
Eric Bogle
Now when was a young man, I carried me pack,
And lived the free life of a rover.
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
Well, I waltzed my Matilda all over.
Then in 1915, my country said son,
It's time you stopped rambling, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,
And they marched me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As the ship pulled away from the quay,
And amidst all the cheers, the flag-waving and tears,
We sailed off for Gallipoli.
And how well I remember that terrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water.
And of how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay,
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk he was waiting, he'd primed himself well.
He shower'd us with bullets, And he rained us with shell.
And in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda,
When we stopped to bury our slain.
We buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.
And those that were left, well we tried to survive,
In that mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive,
Though around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
And when I woke up in my hospital bed,
And saw what it had done, well I wished I was dead.
Never knew there was worse things than dyin'.
For I'll go no more waltzing Matilda,
All around the green bush far and free.
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more waltzing Matilda for me.
So they gathered the crippled, the wounded,
The maimed, and they shipped us back home to Australia.
The legless, the armless, the blind, the insane,
Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay,
I looked at the place where me legs used to be.
And thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
To grieve, to mourn, and to pity.
But the band played Waltzing Matilda,
As they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared,
Then they turned all their faces away.
And so now every April, I sit on me porch,
And I watch the parades pass before me.
And I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
Reviving old dreams of past glories.
And the old men march slowly, old bones stiff and sore.
They're tired old heroes from a forgotten war,
And the young people ask, what are they marching for?
And I ask myself the same question.
But the band plays Waltzing Matilda,
And the old men still answer the call,
But as year follows year, more old men disappear.
Someday no one will march there at all.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda, who'll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by that billabong,
Who’ll come a-waltzing Matilda with me?
