Harold Land

with a wave of his hand,

Said goodbye

to all that,

He paid his bills,

and stopped the Milk,

then put on his hat,



He tried to say

his last farewells

as quickly as he could,

Promising

that he would return,

but doubted

that he would,

Doubted that he would.

Doubted

Now he's

marching soldiers

in the rain

As on to

war they rode.

A long thin line

of human mind,

Damnation

as their load!



In the mud

in coldness dark

he'd shiver out his fear,

What disappointing

sights he'd seen

instead of

one's so dear

instead of one's so dear

Going home,

He's going home

to the land he loved so well,

he fought for two

whole years he never fell,

He's going home,



He's going home.



Harold Land

with a wave of his hand

stood sadly

on the stage,

Clutching red ribbons

from a badge

but he didn't look his age,



Only two years

had passed between

his leaving home and back,

He had lost

his love and youth

while leading the attack

Leading the attack



In conversation it could be said,

Well after war your heart is dead,

Well it's not hard to understand,

There is no heart in Harold Land.