Walking

©Robert Fitzmorgan (Gordon Scott Fridenberg)



Walking, ever walking,
always walking without stopping,
Walking onward without rest
Our hearts pounding in our chest.
Though we're choking on the dust
We walk on because we must,
Walking onward ever onward ever more.

Together hand in hand
We came to free the Holy Land.
In the land of our Lords birth
Moslem blood would stain the earth.
Then finally came the night,
With their sentry fires in sight,
Fired with faith we'd face the foe upon the morn'.

At last! The break of day.
With our troops in close array.
We moved boldly towards the foe.
The wrath of God they soon would know.
With our faith to lead us on,
In the early light of Dawn.
We did battle for the glory of our Lord.

Well the fighting it was fierce.
Many a man was cruelly pierced.
Many a man in that cruel strife,
Was deprived of limb and life.
And when victory seemed most near
They attacked us from the rear.
And God's army soon became a fleeing mob.

It was barely one in five,
Of our men escaped alive.
And the Saracans give chase.
As towards the coast we race.
In the battle fiercely fought
All our prayers availed us not.
God gives victory to the strong. Not the pure.