The Unknown Soldier by Ralph McTell
Key: CC | Capo: 0fr |  Left-Handed 

    


Intro 1
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Trumpets
Intro (Spoken)
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  More than fifty thousand names are carved on Ypres' Menin gate
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  of soldiers who have no known graves,   just their destiny and date.
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Witness and last testament, name and rank and regiment,
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is now all that survives from so many squandered lives.
[Part 1
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And for every name inscribed
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  the poor bereaved were left to mourn,
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  the passing of each one who died
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with no white cross on tended lawn.
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No place to go   to contemplate
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the sacrifice,   the wicked waste,
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no footprint left to show where once they trod
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Allegedly known unto Interlude god.
Interlude
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[Part 2
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From Ypres, Arras, Aisne and Somme,
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six unknown soldiers were exhumed,
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a blindfold general picked one man
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and reverently  they brought him home.
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Six black horses drew the hearse
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through silent London crowds   immersed,
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in deepest thought belief or wishful prayer
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that this might be their own boy Interlude there.
Interlude
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[Spoken]
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The metal tyres on the carriage wheels, played the tuneless requiem,
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the sky as grey as bayonet steel above the sombre hatless men.
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One more enemy to kill, that remaining sense of guilt,
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that through it all somehow they had survived,
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  returned to mothers   sweethearts wives.
[Spoken]
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  Familiar streets their own backyards,
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their medals and all praise ignored,
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prayed to be his honour guard and walk with him their true reward.
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  While far from pomp and circumstance,
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  across the autumn fields of France,
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  the trenches start to slowly fill and fade,
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the bloody page turned by the ploughman's blade.
[Part 3
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Thankfully   we'll never know
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  if he was constant strong or frail,
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  scared or brave in equal parts,
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country tanned or city pale.
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  A carefree youth or thoughtful lad,
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not wholly good nor wholly bad,
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a bomb does not judge how you played your part,
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a bullet stops a lions Interlude heart.
Interlude
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F      F       G      G
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[Part 4
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  With softest cloth and gentlest broom
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  to sweep and wipe cathedral dust,
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like dried tears on this marble tomb,
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take care for he was one of us.
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  In perfect irony and grief
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the bride's bouquet becomes a wreath,
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and wrapped beneath dark angels folded wings,
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Tommy Atkins rests   with Outro kings.
Outro
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