(Anderson/Squire/Bruford)
Harold Land with a wave of his hand said goodbye to all that
He paid his bills and stopped the milk, then put on his hat
He tried to say his last farewells as quickly as he could,
Promising that he would return, but doubted that he would,
Doubted that he would, doubted
Now he's marching soldiers in the rain as on to war they rode
A long thin line of human mind, damnation as their load
In the mud in coldness dark, he'd shiver out his fear,
What disappointing sights he'd seen instead of ones so dear,
Instead of ones so dear, so dear
Going home, He's going home to the land he loved so well
Going home, He fought for two years, never fell
Going home, He's going home,
Going home He's going home
Harold Land with a wave of his hand stood sadly on the stage,
Clutching red ribbons from a badge, but he didn't look his age
Only two years had passed between his leaving home and back;
He had lost his love and youth while leading the attack, leading the attack
In conversation it could be said,
Well after war your heart is dead
Well it's not hard to understand,
There is no heart in Harold Land