brag

and though the fires are burning, under the pillars of learning, i hear the wind is still howling "go home", and looking out of your window, you see a brave new tomorrow, and no one is standing in your way, when everything is done, the war is never won, he's standing all alone, the russian winds blow cold, his story must be told, the great one-handed brag, through all the bodies decaying, you come up smelling of roses, you take the final decision, to carry on, you think of sweet josephine, back home where fields were green, and no sweat, no blood, no stench, no mortal coil. when everything is done, the war is never won, he's standing all alone, the russian winds blow cold, his story must be told, the great one-handed brag, in colorful blue, sur les grands oceans, j'entends le vent souffler me dire, c'est la retraite, oh, and the boys are all in retreat, you'd better wise up and face defeat, and half a million men lie dying, when everything is done, the war is never won, he's standing all alone, the russian winds blow cold, the story must be told, the great one-handed brag