Can you hear the shuffle of boots?
Old men in polyester suits
Ties like regimental colours flying
Who they are I do not know
I just watch them row upon row
Every single one of them is crying
And they're marching along the old dirt tracks
Looking up ahead and never looking back
Scared they'll catch the eye of some Medusa
Here they are now one, two, three
Four, and five, and more, and many
And six, and seven, eight, and nine
Here they come in a long-long line
Count a dozen, count a score
There might be a hundred more
♪
Can you hear the clatter of boots?
Kids and packs and khaki suits
And ragged regimental colours flying
Swallowed whole by the cold steel rain
Just a little fresh bood in the serpent's veins
And it's a sharp shrill whistle, call to attack
And they're running up ahead, and they're never coming back
Caught right in the eye of some Medusa
Here they are now one, two, three
Four, and five, and more, and many
And six, and seven, eight, and nine
Here they come in a long-long line
Count a dozen, count a score
There might be a hundred more
♪
Can you hear the sidewalks clicking
And the telephones bulling
And the clocks all ticking
And red-ink spilling on the embers
No one cares, no one remembers
Names like footsteps chiselled in stone
Row upon row, row upon row
Row upon row, row upon row
Here they are now one, two, three
Four, and five, and more, and many
And six, and seven, eight, and nine
Here they come in a long-long line
Count a dozen, count a score
There might be a hundred more
Here they are now one, two, three
Four, and five, and more, and many
And six, and seven, eight, and nine
Here they come in a long-long line
Count a dozen, count a score
There might be a hundred more
A hundred more, a hundred more