The life of a Bengal lancer
I was never much of a dancer.
I had my back against the wall
While the other guys whirled you round the floor.
I wouldn’t lie to you
I wouldn’t be untrue
But you’re dead to me
And I am dead to you.
And the human race
Has got a special place
For the likes of you and me.
The life of a Bengal lancer
I was never much of a chancer.
I used to sit at the back of the room
While the others talked to you.
I wouldn’t cry for you
Although I’ve done that too
But you’re hurting me
And I am hurting you.
And the human race
Puts on its lying face
When it meets you in the street
And you are low.
I know I speak for all of us when I say
He would have wanted it this way.
There is the rising mist, the clenching fist
The heart persists.
So charge your glass and staunch the laughter.
Be upstanding for the part where
We say goodbye, we eulogise.
The shrouded room, the yawning gloom.
The life of a Bengal lancer
It was never much of an answer
I used to choke on my words
While the other guys spoke to you in verse
I wouldn’t lie to you
Although I’ve tried to
But you’re part of me
And I am part of you.
And the human race
Is such a lonely place
When they meet you in the street and you are low.
When they’re waving from the door, you know they know.
When they’re gathered round your bed
It’s time to go.
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