So far from home, and every man's an enemy;
So far from home, and little chance of leave.
So far from home; no pretty wife to comfort me
Pity us poor soldiers, we've cause enough to grieve.

As I walked out, one winter's morning early
The mist hung in the valley, I'd no cause to tarry long.
The cheery birds were silent, I felt the mist about me
And heard the sound of voices raised in mournful marching song.

Chorus

And as I stood, a horse and armoured rider
Came marching at the vanguard of a line of trudging men.
Bright feathers in their helmets, their faces dark and cloudy
I never saw a sadder sight than passed before me then.

Chorus

No sound there came from horse's hoof or bridle:
No sound from the armour or the weapons that they wore.
Only their voices, raised up in singing,
Broke the eerie silence as they marched across the moor.

Chorus