Willie McBride


How do you do, private William McBride?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, and I’m nearly done.
And I see, by your gravestone, you were only 19,
When you joined the dead heroes in 1915,
Well I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean,
Or Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they beat the drums slowly,
Did they sound the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugle sing the last postin' chorus,
Did the pipes play the flowers of the Far walls?

And did you leave a wife, or a sweet heart behind,
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And though you died back in 1915,
To some faithful heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Enshrined forever behind a glass frame,
In an old photograph torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a bound leather frame.

Did they beat the drums slowly,
Did they sound the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugle sing the last postin' chorus,
Did the pipes play the flowers of the Far walls?

Well the sun's shining now on these green fields of France,
a warm wind blows gently and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished under the plow,
No gas, and no barbed wire, no gun firing now.
But here in this graveyard it is still no man's land,
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand,
To man's blind indifference to his fellow man,
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned.

Did they beat the drums slowly,
Did they sound the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?

Did the bugle sing the last postin' chorus,
Did the pipes play the flowers of the Far walls?

And I can't help but wonder, Willie McBride, do all those who lie here know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you the cause?
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame,
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it's all happened again…
And again, and again, and again, and again.

Did they beat the drums slowly,
Did they sound the fife lowly,
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugle sing the last postin' chorus,
Did the pipes play the flowers of the Far walls?



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~© 2000 Animonique~