Our history speaks in thunder from a thousand village halls. In blood and sweat and sacrifice in honouring every call. So the forces gathered against the thorn a-piercing in their side. A brave new world is beckoning so the olden world must die.. In the offices of the city at all the tables of oak and power. The snares are laid and baited for the approaching of the hour. A hundred justifications and the presses are ready to roll. The gateways to the nation they are firmly under control. Chorus:. On on on cried the leaders at the back. We went galloping down the blackened hills. And into the gaping trap. The bridges are burnt behind us and there's waiting guns ahead. Into the valley of death rode the brave hundreds. We called for some assistance from the friends that we had known. But this is the 1980s and we were on our own. We never felt like heroes or martyrs to a cause. Just battle-weary soldiers in a bloody civil war. The massacre now is over and the order new enshrined. While a quarter of the nation are abandoned far behind. Their leaders offer the clich?words so righteous in defeat. But no one needs morality when there isn't enough to eat. The unity bond is broken and the loyalty songs are fake. I'll screw my only brother for even a glimpse at a piece of the cake. We only cry in private here behind the shuttered glass. When we think of the charge of this brigade the severing of the past. Chorus:. On on on cried the leaders at the back. We went galloping down the blackened hills. And into the gaping trap. The bridges are burnt behind us and there's waiting guns ahead.