Every night he waits for his master to come home By himself he lays on the road all alone, he doesn't moan Eight o'clock, soon his only master will appear He'll wag his tail, though it seems so long since he was here, it's been a year He used to come home with a bone and he thought he'd never be alone He would curl up with him there by the fire on cold winter's nights so long ago Poor dog can hear a siren that echoes in the night A cringe of fear he recalls a year ago tonight, that flashing light, he died that night