When I was a young man I carried my pack. And I lived the free life of a rover. From the Murrays green basin to the dusty outback. I waltzed my Matilda all over. Then in nineteen fifteen my country said Son. It's time to stop rambling 'cause 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 we sailed away from the quay. And amidst all the tears and the shouts and the. cheers. We sailed off to Gallipoli. How well I remember that terrible day. <When> the blood stained the sand and the water. And how in that hell that they called Suvla Bay. We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter. Johnny Turk he was ready he primed himself well. He <showered> us with bullets he rained us with. shells. And in five minutes flat he'd blown us all to hell. Nearly blew us right back to Australia. But the band played Waltzing Matilda. As we stopped to bury our slain. And we buried ours and the Turks buried theirs. Then <it> started all over again. Now those <who were living did their best to survive>. In <that> mad world of blood death and fire. And for <seven long> weeks I kept myself alive. <While the corpses around me piled higher>. Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over tit. And when I woke up in my hospital bed. And saw what it had done <Christ> I wished I was. dead. Never knew there were worse things than dying. <And> no more I'll go waltzing Matilda. <To> the green <bushes so> far and near. For to hump tent and pegs a man needs two legs. No more waltzing Matilda for me. So they collected the cripples the wounded <and>. maimed. And they shipped us back home to Australia. <The legless the armless> the blind <and> insane. Those proud wounded heroes of Suvla. And as our ship pulled into Circular Quay. I looked at the place where <me> 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. <And they> turned all their faces away. And 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 <the or their> dreams of past glory. <I see the old men all twisted and torn>. The forgotten heroes <of> a forgotten war. And the young people ask <me> "What are they. marching for?". And I ask myself the same question. And the band plays Waltzing Matilda. And the old men <still> answer to the call. But year after year their numbers get fewer. Some day no one will march there at all. Waltzing Matilda Waltzing Matilda. Who'll <go> a-waltzing Matilda with me?.