Letras
Far and wide as the eye can wonder
Heath and bog are everywhere
Not a bird sings out to cheer us
Oaks are standing gaunt and bare.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
Up and down the guards are marching,
No one, no one can get through.
Flight would mean a sure death facing,
Guns and barbed wire block our view.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
But for us there is no complaining,
Winter will in time be past.
One day we shall rise rejoicing.
Homeland, dear, you're mine at last.
Then we're the peat bogs soldiers,
March no more with spades to the moor.