Your gun is precise, and your bayonet's nice
But the ice on the river won't hold you
You'll drown in a trice if you march on the ice
And lonely, cold death shall enfold you
Thus spoke his wife as he whetted his knife
Hoisting his pack, he said marching is my life
For when you're marching no woman can scold you
We're marching into Poland, then we're marching off to Spain
With your bayonet sharpened,
With your sharp bayonet you've no need to explain
For there's no woman who's ever controlled you
When you're marching no woman,
When you're marching no woman can scold you
Oh, bitter her tears, she was younger in years
Wiser than he, so she told him
March off if you must, they will all come to dust
For only a coffin shall hold him
Off goes her man, he will write when he can
And women have wept since the world first began
And how the sound of her sorrow consoled him
With the moon on the shingles, I see white on the snow
Goodbye to your husband,
So long to your husband, and then back home you'll go
Where you will wait for the fate you foretold him
You will wait for the fate,
You will wait for the fate you foretold him
It isn't a joke, your life is like smoke
And someday you will wish you had tarried
How quickly you'll fall, oh God help us all
A soldier should never get married
He tumbled the dice, and he soon paid the price
They gave him his orders to march on the ice
And then the water rose up all around him
And the water rose up and it drowned him
Through Poland, through Spain, his poor wife searched in vain
But he'd vanished: she never found him
He was gone and his wife
He was gone and his wife
He was gone and his wife never found him
Oh she never found him