Help me forget the war and all.
Damp is my dugout, cold are my feet,
Nothing but biscuits and bully to eat.
Sing me to sleep where bombs explode,
With shrapnel shells around the mould.
Over the sandbags and helmets you’ll find
Corpses in front of us, corpses behind.
Far from Gallipoli I want to be,
Where Turkish snipers can’t snipe at me.
Think of me standing where Turkish creep,
Waiting for someone to sing me to sleep.
Sing me to sleep in some old shed,
Where fleas are busy around my head.
Stretched out upon my waterproof,
Dodging the raindrops through the roof.
Sing me to sleep where campfires glow,
To two three course dinners I wouldn’t say no.
Dreams of the Savoy, the opera as well,
Wishing that all of the Turks were in heaven -
Far from the Lone Pine I want to be,
Lights of Australia I’d rather see.
Think of me standing; my guard I’ll keep,
But I’d rather have my girl to sing me to sleep.
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2014/8/7 - 10:40
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