White Boots Marching in a Yellow Land Lyrics

The pilots playing poker in the cockpit of the plane,
the casualties arriving like the dropping of the rain.
And a mountain of machinery will fall before a man,
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land
It's written in the ashes of the village towns we burn,
it's written in the empty beds of fathers unreturned.
And the chocolate in the children's eyes will never understand,
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land.
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,
the morning has arrived, you must be gone.
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,
like old whores following tired armies.
Train them well, the men who will be fighting by your side,
and never turn your back, if the battle turns the tide,
for the colours of a civil war are louder than commands,
when you're white boots marching in a yellow land.
Blow them from the forest and burn them from your sight,
tie their hands behind their backs, and question through the night.
But when the firing squad is ready, they'll be spitting where they stand,
at the white boots marching in a yellow land.
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,
the morning has arrived, you must be gone.
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,
like old whores following tired armies.
The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stage,
raw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cage.
Oh, we're fighting in a war we lost before the war began,
we're the white boots marching in a yellow land.
Red blow the bugles of the dawn,
the morning has arrived you must be gone.
And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls,
like old whores following tired armies.