The Deserter Songtext
von Pukka Orchestra

I′m sorry I done it, Major!"
We bandaged the livid face
And led him out ere the wan sun rose
To die his death of disgrace


The bolt-heads locked to the cartridge
The rifles steadied to rest
As cold stock nestled at colder cheek
And foresight lined on the breast
"Fire!" called the Sergeant-Major
The muzzles flamed as he spoke

And the shameless soul of a nameless man
Went up in the cordite smoke