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作曲 : Ryan Kelly
When I was a young man I carried my pack,
and I lived the free life of a rover.
From the Murray‘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 rambling, there's work to be done.
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun.
And they sent me away to the war.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
as the ship pulled away from the quay,
and amid all the cheers, flag-waving and tears,
we sailed off for Gallipoli.
It well I remember that terrible day,
when our blood stained the sand and the water.
How in that hell that they called Suvla Bay,
we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk he was ready, oh, he primed himself well.
He rained us with bullets, and he showered us with shells.
And in five minutes flat, we're all blown to hell,
nearly blew us back home to Australia.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
when we stopped to bury our slain.
We buried ours and the Turks buried theirs,
then we started all over again.
Those that were leaving, well we tried to survive,
in a mad world of blood, death and fire.
And for ten weary weeks I just kept myself alive,
as around me the corpses piled higher.
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
and when I awoke in my hospital bed.
And saw what it had done, I wished I were dead.
Never knew there were worse things than dying.
For no more I'll go waltzing Matilda,
all around the green bush far and free.
For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs.
No more waltzing Matilda for me.
They gathered the crippled, the wounded, and the maimed.
And they shipped us back home to Australia.
The armless, The legless, the blind, the insane,
those proud wounded heroes of Suvla.
And as the ship pulled into Circular Quay,
and I looked at the place where my legs used to be.
And thank Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
to grieve and to mourn and to pity.
And the band played Waltzing Matilda,
as they carried us down the gangway.
But nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
Then turned all their faces away.
Now every April I sit on my porch,
and I watch the parade pass before me.
I see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
reliving old dreams of past glories.
I see the old men, all tired, stiff and sore,
those weary old 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 Waltzing Matilda,
and the old men still answer the call.
But year after year, more of them disappear,
Someday no one will march there at all.
Waltzing Matilda, Waltzing Matilda,
Who'll come a waltzing Matilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,
who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me?
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