Текст: Barbara Dickson. Gold. Soldiers.

Do I hear what I think I'm hearing
Do I see the signs I think I see
Or is this just a fantasy
Is it true that the beast is waking
Stirring in his restless sleep tonight
In the pale moonlight
In the grip of this cold December
You and I have reason to remember

Soldiers write the songs that
Soldiers sing the songs that
You and I don't sing
They blow their horns and march along
They drum their drums and look so strong
You'd think that nothing in the world
Was wrong
Soldiers write the songs that
Soldiers sing the songs that
You and I won't sing
Let's not look the other way
Taking a chance
'Cause if the bugler starts to play
We too must dance

What's that sound
What's that dreadful rumble
Won't somebody tell me what I hear
In the distance but drawing near
Is it only a storm approaching
All that thunder and the blinding light
In the winter night
In the grip of this cold December
You and I have reason to remember

Soldiers write the songs that
Soldiers sing the songs that
You and I don't sing
They blow their horns and march along
They drum their drums and look so strong
You'd think that nothing in the world
Was wrong
Soldiers write the songs that
Soldiers sing the songs that
You and I won't sing
Let's not look the other way
Taking a chance
'Cause if the bugler starts to play
We too must dance

Soldiers write the songs that
Soldiers sing the songs that
You and I won't sing
Let's not look the other way
Taking a chance
'Cause if the bugler starts to play
We too must dance


We too must dance (if the bugler starts to play)
We too must dance (if the bugler starts to play)

(TO FADE)