Past grave and grave, row upon row
Until I see the name John Condon
Carved in stone, with harp and crown,
Little crosses in the ground.
And standing there, my silent prayer,
Is for a boy who died a soldier.
We land who'll not grow old
Heroes that don't come home
Here they lie in Belgian fields
Just a recruit in soldier's boots
From Ireland's shores to here
This living hell, this Paul Capel
Where young men fell like you,
And all around, the harp and crown
Stand up in proof, the bitter truth
The waste of youth that lies forgotten
We land will not grow old
Heroes that don't come home
Here they lie in Belgian fields
Now tell me John, before I go on
What did you come here for?
Fourteen years old to die a soldier.
And all around, the harp and crown,
what cause was served, so undeserved?
Sing out for all their sins
Here they lie in Belgian fields
4.7
