Far and wide as the eye can wander,
Heath and bog are every where.
Not a bird sings out to cheer us.
Oaks are standing gaunt and bare.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
Verse: 2
Up and down the guards are marching,
No one, no one can get through.
Flight would mean a sure death facing,
Guns and barbed wire block our view.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
We are the peat bog soldiers,
Marching with our spades to the moor.
Verse: 3
But for us there is no complaining,
Winter will in time be past.
One day we shall rise rejoicing.
Homeland, dear, you're mine at last.
Then will the peatbog soldiers
March no more with their spades to the moor.
Then will the peatbog soldiers
March no more with their spades to the moor.