"Reach me my belt and leave your prattle:
Your hour is gone;
But my day is the day of battle,
And that comes dawning on.
Your hour is gone;
But my day is the day of battle,
And that comes dawning on.
"They mow the field of man in season:
Farewell, my fair,
And, call it truth or call it treason,
Farewell the vows that were."
Farewell, my fair,
And, call it truth or call it treason,
Farewell the vows that were."
"Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly:
'Tis like the brave.
They find no bed to joy in rightly
Before they find the grave.
'Tis like the brave.
They find no bed to joy in rightly
Before they find the grave.
"Their love is for their own undoing,
And east and west
They scour about the world a-wooing
The bullet to their breast.
And east and west
They scour about the world a-wooing
The bullet to their breast.
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