Hope

The beating of a single drummer boy, Banging out his tunes, Leading forth our heroes, Our homegrown nations faithful platoons. British men daring to take the front line, Onwards and upwards, Cry out the voices, Trackers frontward lead, seeking out the mine. The enemy advance, to take control, Laden with weapons, Coming to influence, Riding Britannia of her soul. For king and country, man, woman and child, Trench life over powering, The time of death looming, Forever darkness the chance of hope is mild. The last round of deadly fire is sent forth, No more pain or fighting, The war has come to cease, Sending joyful messages of victories, north. Normandy, the final resting place, Of those brought down in battle, Forlorn widows, crying, Poppies mark the end of a dying race. The beating of a single drummer boy, Banging out his tunes, Leading home our heroes, Our homegrown nations faithful platoons.