Oh England, oh England!
The country that grew and grew,
into an empire as great as you.
How, oh how are the mighty fallen?
They are lying on the battlefields,
having fought for our freedom.
Each family torn asunder in a moment,
in the heat of battle, beneath the burning sun.
Each fallen hero silhouetted on the mind,
never forgotten, always remembered.
They grace the hills, valleys and fields,
of many, many far and distant lands.
Now each family lays their hero,
to rest in that peaceful field,
undisturbed until that eventful day.
Now the families turn to count their cost!
The families slowly wonder home,
so bewildered and distraught, is etched on all their faces.
Suddenly a cry, “my sweetheart oh why?”
Each word eerily echoing through the crowds.
My loss is such a heavy painful burden,
my bones inside begin to hurt and ache,
at night I toss and turn awake,
staring at the pillow, where’s my hero?
The days are long, my energy has gone,
Oh that my hero was back at my side,
I would hold him tight, never let him go,
then there would be love and peace forevermore!
Oh England, oh England,
how are the mighty fallen?
The green grass is all withered,
and their flower is fallen!