Well how do you do, Private William McBride?
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while 'neath the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done
Oh I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great fallen in nineteen-sixteen
And I hope you died well
I hope you died clean
Oh young William McBride, was it

Did they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound out the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

Did you leave here a wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
Although you died back in nineteen-sixteen
In that faithful heart, are you forever nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name
Enclosed then forever behind a glass frame
In an old photograph torn, battered, and stained
And faded

Did they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound out the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?
Now young William McBride, I can't help but wonder, why?
Do those that lie here know why did they die?
And did they believe when they answered the call?
Did they really believe that this war would end wars?
The sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the shame
The killing and dying was all done in vain
For young William McBride it all happened again
And again

Did they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound out the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?

Did they beat the drums slowly?
Did they play the fife lowly?
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sound out the Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest?