Done with Bonaparte
We’ve paid in hell since Moscow burnedAs cossacks tear us piece by pieceOur dead are strewn a hundred leaguesThough death would be a sweet releaseAnd our grande armée is dressed in ragsA frozen starving beggar bandLike rats we steal each other’s scrapsFall to fighting hand to hand
Save my soul from evil, lordAnd heal this soldier’s heartI’ll trust in thee to keep me, lordI’m done with Bonaparte
What dreams he made for us to dreamSpanish skies, Egyptian sandsThe world was ours, we marched uponOur little corporal’s commandAnd I lost an eye at AusterlitzThe Sabre slash yet gives me painMy one true love awaits me stillThe flower of the Aquitaine
Save my soul from evil, lordAnd heal this soldier’s heartI’ll trust in thee to keep me, lordI’m done with Bonaparte
I pray for her who prays for meA safe return to my belle FranceWe prayed these wars would end all warsIn war we know is no romanceAnd I pray our child will never seeA little corporal againPoint toward a foreign shoreCaptivate the hearts of men
Save my soul from evil, lordAnd heal this soldier’s heartI’ll trust in thee to keep me, lordI’m done with Bonaparte