Lyrics:
Pre>E c#m a eThe pilots playing poker in the cockpit of the planeC#m a f#mThe casualties arriving like the dropping of the rainE c#m a bAnd a mountain of machinery will fall before a manE g#m a b eWhen youre white boots marching in a yellow landIts written in the ashes of the village towns we burnIts written in the empty bed of the fathers unreturnedAnd the chocolate in the childrens eyes will never understandWhen youre white boots marching in a yellow landC#mRed blow the bugles of the dawnBThe morning has arrived you must be goneA bAnd the lost patrol chase their chartered(*) soulsE dLike cold/old(? ) whores following tired armiesTrain them well, the men who will be fighting by your sideAnd never turn your back if the battle turns the tideFor the colours of a civil war are louder than commandsWhen youre white boots marching in a yellow landBlow them from the forest and burn them from your sightTie their hands behind their back and question through the nightBut when the firing squad is ready theyll be spitting where they standAt the white boots marching in a yellow landRed blow the bugles of the dawnThe morning has arrived you must be goneAnd the lost patrol chase their chartered soulsLike cold whores following tired armiesThe comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stageRaw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cageWere fighting in a war we lost before the war beganWere the white boots marching in a yellow landAnd the lost patrol chase their chartered soulsLike cold whores following tired armies/pre>