Our history speaks in thunder from a thousand village halls
in blood and sweat and sacrifice, in honouring every call
so the forces gathered against the thorn a-piercing in their side
a brave new world is beckoning so the olden world must die.
in the offices of the city, at all the tables of oak and power
the snares are laid and baited for the approaching of the hour
a hundred justifications and the presses are ready to roll
the gateways to the nation they are firmly under control
Ch: on, on, on, cried the leaders at the back
we went galloping down the blackened hills
and into the gaping trap
the bridges are burnt behind us and there's waiting guns ahead
into the valley of death rode the brave hundreds
We called for some assistance from the friends that we had known
but this is the 1980s and we were on our own
we never felt like heroes or martyrs to a cause
just battle-weary soldiers in a bloody civil war
The massacre now is over and the order new enshrined
while a quarter of the nation are abandoned far behind
their leaders offer the cliché words, so righteous in defeat
but no one needs morality when there isn't enough to eat
the unity bond is broken and the loyalty songs are fake
i'll screw my only brother for even a glimpse at a piece of the cake
we only cry in private here behind the shuttered glass
when we think of the charge of this brigade, the severing of the past
Ch: on, on, on, cried the leaders at the back
we went galloping down the blackened hills
and into the gaping trap
the bridges are burnt behind us and there's waiting guns ahead
into the valley of death rode the brave hundreds