White Boots Marching In A Yellow Land

It's written in the ashes of the village towns we burn
 It's written in the empty bed of the fathers unreturned
 And the chocolate in the children's eyes will never understand
 When you're white boots marching in a yellow land
 Red, blow the bugles of the dawn
 The morning has arrived, you must be gone
 And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
 Like cold whores following tired armies
 Train them well, the men who will be fighting by your side
 And never turn your back if the battle turns the tide
 For the colors of a civil war are louder than commands
 When you're white boots marching in a yellow land
 Blow them from the forest and burn them from your sight
 Tie their hands behind their back and question through the night
 But when the firing squad is ready
 They'll be spitting where they stand
 At the white boots marching in a yellow land
 Red, blow the bugles of the dawn
 The morning has arrived, you must be gone
 And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
 Like cold whores following tired armies
 The comic and the beauty queen are dancing on the stage
 Raw recruits are lining up like coffins in a cage
 We're fighting in a war, we lost before the war began
 We're the white boots marching in a yellow land
 And the lost patrol chase their chartered souls
 Like cold whores following tired armies