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The pilots playing poker in the cockpit of the plane The casualties arriving like the dropping of the rain And a mountain of machinery will fall before a man When you're white boots marching in a yellow land It's written in the ashes of the village towns we burn It's written in the empty bed of the fathers unreturned And the chocolate in the childrens eyes will never understand When you're white boots marching in a yellow land Red blow the bugles of the dawn The morning has arrived you must be gone And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls Like cold/old(?) whores following tired armies Train them well, the men who will be fighting by your side And never turn your back if the battle turns the tide For the colours of a civil war are louder than commands When you're white boots marching in a yellow land Blow them from the forest and burn them from your sight Tie their hands behind their back and question through the night But when the firing squad is ready they'll be spitting where they stand At the white boots marching in a yellow land Red blow the bugles of the dawn Letras de cancionesThe morning has arrived you must be gone And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls Like cold whores following tired armies The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stage Raw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cage We're fighting in a war we lost before the war began We're the white boots marching in a yellow land And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls like cold whores following tired armies From Letras Mania