Green Fields Of France Celtic Thunder

Well how do you do, young Willy McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done

I see by your gravestone you were only 19
You joined the great fallin' in 1916
Well I hope you died quick, and I hope you died clean
Willy McBride, was it slow and obscene?

[Chorus:]
Did they beat the drums slowly
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did they sound a death march as they lowered you down?
Did the band play the last post and chorus?
Did the pipes play the flowers of the forest?

Did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some faithful heart, is your memory in shrine?
And though you died back in 1916
In that faithful heart, you're forever 19

Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed forever behind a glass pane
In an old photograph, torn and battered and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown yellow frame