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lyrics

Well how do you do, Private William McBride?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside,
And I'll rest here a while in the warm summer sun?
I've been walkin' all day lord, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916
And I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean,
Or William McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they play the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire over as they lowered you down?
Did the bugle sing The Last Post in?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you always 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind some glass pane
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown, leather frame

Did they beat the drum slowly,
Did they play the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire over as they lowered you down?
Did the bugle sing The Last Post in?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

The sun's shining down on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance.
And I can't help but wonder, now William McBride,
Do all those who lie here, know why they died?
The suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame,
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For William McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again,

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Helen Rupp-Henshaw Leeds, UK

Helen Rupp is a prolific Singer-Songwriter, Multi-Instrumentalist and Young Composer from Leicester.

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