And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda
The Skids Lyrics

When I was a young man I carried a pack
Back when I was younger, I was carefree, traveling with only what I could carry on my back

And lived the free life of a rover
I was living life without a care- roaming from place to place with nothing dragging me down.

From the Murray′s green banks to the dusty outback
I traveled all throughout the country- from the lush banks of the Murray to the dry and barren outback.

I waltzed my Matilda all over
I traveled with nobody but my old swag- a trusted companion on my journies.

Then in 1915, the country said, 'Son
But when World War I broke out in 1915, the country suddenly changed their tune and believed that there was important work for me to do.

It's no time for roving, there′s work to be done'
It was believed that it was no time for me to be traveling aimlessly since there was a war on that required soldiers to become involved.

And they gave me a tin hat and gave me a gun
For my efforts, I was equipped with a metal helmet and a gun, both of which were essential in the war games that I was to become involved in.

And they sent me away to the war
Soon, I was shipped off to war, not knowing how my life would turn out as a result of my participation.

And the band played Waltzing Matilda
And as I was leaving, the band played a song familiar to me, 'Waltzing Matilda,' which left me feeling both homesick and uneasy.

As the ship pulled away from the quay
I could see the distance between myself and home increasing as the ship I was on kept pulling further and further away from the dock.

And amidst all the cheers, the flag waving and tears
Despite the joy and laughter surrounding me, it was impossible for me to ignore the tears that were being shed by both those departing and those staying behind.

We sailed off for Gallipoli
Soon enough, I was off to Gallipoli, where I would become involved in one of the bloodiest and most brutal battles that the war had ever seen.

Oh well I remember that terrible day
I can still recall the gruesome and terrifying moments of that battle- one of the most brutal days in my entire life.

When our blood stained the sand and the water
The beach was painted red with the blood of those that lost their lives in the fight.

And how in that hell that they called Souvla Bay
The fighting was so intense that the battlefield became known as a metaphor for the worst place imaginable- 'hell.'

We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter
We were no match for the violence of the enemy and became just like lambs to the slaughter- no more than helpless and defenseless beings suffering at the hands of others.

Johnny Turk he was waiting
The enemy, nicknamed 'Johnny Turk,' was always lying in wait, taking the opportunity to ambush those looking for a fair fight.

He primed himself well
The Turks had crafted a plan with care, and they executed with precision, making sure that they were successful- no matter the cost.

Showered us with bullets and rained us with shells
Without provocation, the Turks launched an all-out attack- firing bullets and shells to kill off their opponents.

And in ten minutes flat he'd blown us to hell
In just ten minutes, the enemy effortlessly overwhelmed us- sending us straight to what felt like hell itself.

Nearly blew us right back to Australia
The force of the attack was so intense that it nearly threw us right back home- to Australia.

As we stopped to bury the slain
With so many lives lost, we had to stop and honor those men we had just lost by giving them a proper funeral.

We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs
Both sides suffered heavy losses, and each side had to mourn the loss of their own men during the battle.

Then we started all over again
Just before we knew it, we were forced back into the fight, fully recognizing that the chaos of the battle would continue to wage on.

They collected the cripples, the wounded and maimed
Amidst all the chaos and carnage, those so unlucky enough to suffer injuries were also collected and taken care of by those that could lend a hand.

And they shipped us back home to Australia
Once the battle had settled, those fortunate enough to return home were shipped back to their country of origin to recover from the ordeal.

The armless, the legless, the blind and insane
Unfortunately, many of the people that returned home were not the same, changed both physically and mentally from the brutalities of the war.

All the brave wounded heroes of Souvla
Despite the heavy losses and injuries, many people referred to those that participated in the battle as 'brave wounded heroes of Souvla.'

And when our ship pulled into Circular Quay
As we returned home and our ship made its way into the harbor at Circular Quay, memories of the past and fate troubles of the future were never far from my mind.

And I looked at the place where me legs used to be
I could still feel the pain of the injury I suffered on the battlefield and couldn't help but stare down at where my legs had once been.

I thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me
Despite these injuries, I found some comfort in the fact that no one was waiting to see me- and hence would have to grieve and mourn my injuries as I dealt with them.

To grieve and to mourn and to pity
It was a tough hurdle to jump, but I found relief in not having to subject others to the pain and feeling of loss that came with my injuries.

As they carried us down the gangway
Those returning from the war were still honored for their service, to be carried off the ship by those looking to show their appreciation.

But nobody cheered they just stood there and stared
Despite the moment being one in which our service was to be celebrated, nobody celebrated or was happy- just staring and questioning what the future held for both ourselves and the country.

And then turned their faces away
People were unable and unwilling to confront their true feelings about the war and what had happened, opting to just turn and walk away rather than face the sadness head-on.

So now every April I sit on my porch
Years have come and gone since the war, and now every April, I find myself sitting on my porch- just reflecting on my experiences both good and bad.

And I watch the parade pass before me
Even to this day, I still find myself paying homage to those that participated in the war, watching as the parades go by and celebrating the brave actions of those that came before me.

And I see my old comrades how proudly they march
While they have all grown old and worn since their time in war, I continue to see proud resilience in the faces of old war comrades being celebrated for what they did.

Reliving old dreams and past glory
People who had once gone through the experiences of war are now at the point where they have the luxury of sitting back and remembering the 'good times' that they shared.

But the old men march slowly, their bones stiff and sore
Now elderly and far from their prime, the old war comrades that once marched with passion and zeal are now slow and stiff, with each step a reminder of the long years since those glory days.

Tired old men from the tired old war
The war years, and the years since then, have taken their toll- leaving me and my fellow war comrades tired, old, and worn out.

And the young people ask what are they marching for
Some people are new to the idea of marching and commemorating the efforts of those in the war, leading them to ask the simple question- what are they marching for?

And I ask meself the same question
At times, I feel the need to ask myself the same question- why still march and remember a war that took place so many years ago?

And the old men they answer the call
Despite our age and the number of years that have passed, my fellow war comrades and myself still answer the call to march every time- honoring the experiences we all shared that we know would always be an important part of the national narrative.

But year by year those old men disappear
Ever since that time, we have lost far too many of our own, and with each passing year, the number of war comrades we have left dwindles.

Soon no-one will march there at all
The days of marching will soon come to a close as the memories that we hold so dear to us fade away with us and the marchers of passed time come to an end.