fandomhighdorms | The Roof, Around Noon

Billy sat leanging against a wall, sketching Jack O'Lantern ideas in his notebook. As he did so, he sang quietly.

When I was a young man,
I carried me pack,
And I lived the free life of the rover.

From the Morrie's green basin,
To the dusty outback,
I waltzed my Matilda, all over.

Then in 1915, my country said son,
It's time to stop ramblin' there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun.
And they sent me off to the war.

And the band played Waltzin' Matilda,
As the ship pulled away from the quay.
And amidst all the tears,
flag wavin' and cheers,
We sailed off for Galipoli.

How well I remember, that terrible day
When our blood stained the sand, and the water
And how in that hell, that they call Suvla Bay,
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.

Johnny Turk he was ready, oh he'd primed himself well
He rained us with bullets,
and he showered us with shell.
And in ten minutes flat, we were all blown to hell.
Nearly blew us back home to Australia.

And the Band played Waltzin' Matilda,
As we stopped to bury our slain.
And we buried ours, and the Turks buried their's.
And it started all over again.

Those who were living, just tried to survive.
IN that land made of death blood and fire.
And for ten weary weeks, I kept myself alive,
While about me the corpses piled higher.

Then a big Turkish shell, knocked me arse over head,
And when I awoke, in me hospital bed,
Saw what it had done, and wished I were dead.
Never knew there were worse things than dyin'.

For no more of my Waltzin' Matilda,
Across God's green earth far and near.
For a hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs.
No more Waltzin' Matilda for me.

They collected the wounded, the dying, the maimed,
And shipped us back home to Australia.
The armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
Those weary old heroes of Suvla.

And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay,
I looked at the place, where my legs used to be.
And thanked Christ, there was no one there waiting for me.
To greive, and to mourn, and to pity.

And the band played Waltzin' Matilda,
As they carried us down the gangway.
And nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared.
And the turned all their faces away.

No every april, I sit on my porch,
And I watch the parade pass before me.
And I see my old comrads, how proudly they march.
Renewing their dreams of past glory.

I see the old soldiers, all tired stiff and sore.
The forgotten heroes, of a forgotten war.
And the young people ask, what are they marching for?
And I ask myself the same question.

And the band plays Waltzin' Matilda,
And the old men still answer the call.
But year after year, their numbers get fewer,
Someday no one will march there at all.

Waltzin' Matilda, Waltzin' Matilda,
Who'll come a waltzin' Matilda with me?
And their ghosts, may be heard, as you march past the billabong.
Who'll come a waltzin', Matilda, with me?

He'll never win American Idol, but he's far from the most horrendous singer ever.