Sat in your uniform looking real class
Striking a pose as bold as brass
You played a mean cornet in a military band
The finest sound in all of the land
The girls all adored you; it was always a lark
When the band came to play in Battersea Park
Polished and smart, a mighty fine gang
All for one, one for all, when the instruments sang
So blow on your cornet, blow it loud and proud
When the band would strike up, what a heavenly sound
An old photograph in sepia tones
Shows all of the boys in impeccable rows
Trombones and euphoniums, marching snares and bass drum
Cornets and tuba and a shield proudly won
So blow on your cornet, blow it loud and proud
When the band would strike up, what a heavenly sound
As the call went out, “there’s a war to be won”
Rifles and bayonets replaced cornets and drums
Down on the platform there was not a dry eye As they wished you luck as they waved you goodbye
An artillery officer astride a fine mount
Twice gassed ’midst the carnage, still not out for the count
But no longer to blow so bold on your brass
With your lungs constricted by the harsh mustard gas
So blow on your cornet, blow it loud and proud
When the band would strike up, what a heavenly sound
And though sweet music fades, its memory flows
Are you playing in Heaven now God only knows?
As the angels sing when your cornet blows
I’ll be blowing your trumpet wherever I go
Striking a pose as bold as brass
You played a mean cornet in a military band
The finest sound in all of the land
The girls all adored you; it was always a lark
When the band came to play in Battersea Park
Polished and smart, a mighty fine gang
All for one, one for all, when the instruments sang
So blow on your cornet, blow it loud and proud
When the band would strike up, what a heavenly sound
An old photograph in sepia tones
Shows all of the boys in impeccable rows
Trombones and euphoniums, marching snares and bass drum
Cornets and tuba and a shield proudly won
So blow on your cornet, blow it loud and proud
When the band would strike up, what a heavenly sound
As the call went out, “there’s a war to be won”
Rifles and bayonets replaced cornets and drums
Down on the platform there was not a dry eye As they wished you luck as they waved you goodbye
An artillery officer astride a fine mount
Twice gassed ’midst the carnage, still not out for the count
But no longer to blow so bold on your brass
With your lungs constricted by the harsh mustard gas
So blow on your cornet, blow it loud and proud
When the band would strike up, what a heavenly sound
And though sweet music fades, its memory flows
Are you playing in Heaven now God only knows?
As the angels sing when your cornet blows
I’ll be blowing your trumpet wherever I go
envoyé par dq82 - 6/4/2017 - 12:47
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Reflections on War