I can’t hear the trumpets
Calling us all home
I can’t hear the ladies
Cheering us, every one
No brass bands playing or flags waving
As we make our way to rest
No crowds to cheer us onward
No medals on our chest
All that we look forward to
Is the soil, so cold and taciturn
And the proudly weeping ladies
Saluting our return
For ours is the most silent journey
That we must make all alone
Apart from the one lone piper
That tells our loved ones that we’re home
So put your best feet forward lads
Let’s show ‘em how it’s done
As we march with heads held high
Toward the setting sun
