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.
