Harold Land, with a wave of his hand, said goodbye to all that
He paid his bills and stopped the milk, then put on his hat
He tried to say his last farewells as quickly as he could
Promising that he would return, but doubted that he would
Doubted that he would, doubted

Now he's marching soldiers in the rain as on to war they rode
A long thin line of human mind, damnation as their load
In the mud in coldness dark, he'd shiver out his fear
What disappointing sights he'd seen, instead of ones so dear
Instead of ones so dear, so dear

Going home, he's going home to the land he loved so well
Going home, he fought for two whole years, he never fell
Going home, he's going home
Going home, he's going home

Harold Land, with a wave of his hand, stood sadly on the stage
Clutching red ribbons from a badge, but he didn't look his age
Only two years had passed between his leaving home and back
He had lost his love and youth while leading the attack
Leading the attack

In conversation it could be said
Well after war your heart is dead
Well it's not hard to understand
There is no heart in Harold Land