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