Oh, the drums are so mournful My dear, oh, my love As my thoughts they are turning your way Where are the eyes I beheld with my own On that long ago lazy day?
Dead are the leaves On the stark battlefield The stench of the flesh sickens me I slept soaking wet And the worms eat my bread The mourning of men fills the air
Oh, green are the leaves On the old apple tree Those sweet perfumed blossoms of spring Entwined in your hair A smile in your eyes A soft blade of grass for a ring
Oh, the drums are so mournful My dear, oh, my love As my thoughts they are turning your way Where are the eyes I beheld with my own On that long ago lazy day? On that long ago lazy day