My father sailed away, the band played tunes of glory A giant man with ribbons, bedeviled dignity A regimental sergeant, the backbone of the Empire For God and righteous glory bound for High Germany Sweet Lord, I was just seven when Margaret was eleven They served us war for breakfast and soldiers' songs for tea "Your father's gone campaigning" was a way of not explaining That soldiers are the living proof of our inhumanity My childhood pa**ed away midst the tales and lurid stories Of manufactured glories and inhuman gallantry I asked, "When is war over?", but no one deemed to answer me And Margaret played that dreaded tune called High Germany Sweet Lord, I was just seven when Margaret was eleven
They served us war for breakfast and soldiers' songs for tea "Your father's gone campaigning" was a way of not explaining That soldiers are the living proof of our inhumanity My father made it home, but he came without his reason Two eyes of molten madness, a senseless fool of war "He's just a child," my mother cried, "to be dressed in full regalia And paraded as a hero home from High Germany" Sweet Lord, I was just seven when Margaret was eleven They served us war for breakfast and soldiers' songs for tea "Your father's gone campaigning" was a way of not explaining That soldiers are the living proof of our inhumanity There'll be no tunes of glory for Margaret and me