The pain of pride and ache to cry,
For those old soldiers, marching by,
Now fragile in their marching pride,
Those age worn faces cannot hide
Scenes of battle burned on mind
And youthful comrades left behind.
Old soldiers hold the marching line
Advancing, never marking time,
Wheel chair, walking, number dwindled
Together still, their passion kindled,
Brave old hearts rise to the call
Knowing soon they too will fall.
So share their pride and ache to cry,
As those last old soldiers pass on by.