Just a day, another day
Beneath the Belgian sun,
Past grave on grave,
Row on row,
Until I see the name John Condon
Carved in stone, with harp and crown,
Little crosses in the ground,
And standing there,
My silent prayer
Is for a boy who died a soldier.
Wee lad who'll not grow old,
Heroes that don't come home,
Here they lie in Belgian fields
And Picardy...
Just a recruit,
In soldiers boots,
From Ireland's shores to here,
This living Hell,
This Poelkappele,
Where young men fell, like you, John Condon.
And all around,
The harp and crown,
The crosses in the ground
Stand up in proof,
The bitter truth,
The waste of youth
That lies forgotten!
Wee lad who'll not grow old,
Heroes that don't come home,
Here they lie in Belgian fields
And Picardy...
Now tell me, John,
Before I go on,
What did you come here for,
With Ireland's bold,
Your life untold,
14 years old,
To die a soldier?
And all around,
The harp and crown,
The crosses in the ground –
What cause was served?
So undeserved!
Heroes that don't come home,
Sing out for all their souls,
Here they lie in Belgian fields
And Picardy.
Beneath the Belgian sun,
Past grave on grave,
Row on row,
Until I see the name John Condon
Carved in stone, with harp and crown,
Little crosses in the ground,
And standing there,
My silent prayer
Is for a boy who died a soldier.
Wee lad who'll not grow old,
Heroes that don't come home,
Here they lie in Belgian fields
And Picardy...
Just a recruit,
In soldiers boots,
From Ireland's shores to here,
This living Hell,
This Poelkappele,
Where young men fell, like you, John Condon.
And all around,
The harp and crown,
The crosses in the ground
Stand up in proof,
The bitter truth,
The waste of youth
That lies forgotten!
Wee lad who'll not grow old,
Heroes that don't come home,
Here they lie in Belgian fields
And Picardy...
Now tell me, John,
Before I go on,
What did you come here for,
With Ireland's bold,
Your life untold,
14 years old,
To die a soldier?
And all around,
The harp and crown,
The crosses in the ground –
What cause was served?
So undeserved!
Heroes that don't come home,
Sing out for all their souls,
Here they lie in Belgian fields
And Picardy.
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