I woke still half-dreaming I was falling out of the trees

and tumbling down into the sky

It's cold, so cold sometime before dawn

searching for a light and reaching round for my clothes

That we believe, so must call, rise

The convoys roll into the coming daylight

Let it not be said that everything must die

without some mark being made of its passing



Chorus:

As if all the world should now hold its breath

These are the days that we'll recall

when the masks are off the faces 

and there's something to fight for

All the lines drawn down in the Soul

You can let your anger burn crazy 



There's talking-drums echoed down towards the Kennet Canal

and wood-smoke sweet on the air

And the Yellow Jackets stand with the Thick Blue Line

backs to the woods in the fresh thin carpet of snow

Snelsmore Wood, The Chase, Enbourne Road

Reddings Copse, Tothill down through Andover Grove

Let it not be said that everything must die

without some mark being made of its passing 



Chorus:

As if all the world should now hold its breath . . .