Boots
Rudyard Kipling, 1903
Rudyard Kipling's poem of infantry marching on and on, with only the sound of their boots.
(Infantry Columns of the Earlier War)
We’re foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa!Foot—foot—foot—foot—sloggin’ over Africa—(Boots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up and down again!)There’s no discharge in the war!
Seven—six—eleven—five—nine-an’-twenty mile to-day—Four—eleven—seventeen—thirty-two the day before—(Boots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up and down again!)There’s no discharge in the war!
Don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t—look at what’s in front of you(Boots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up an’ down again);Men—men—men—men—men go mad with watchin’ ’em,An’ there’s no discharge in the war.
Try—try—try—try—to think o’ something different—Oh—my—God—keep—me from goin’ lunatic!(Boots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up an’ down again!)There’s no discharge in the war.
Count—count—count—count—the bullets in the bandoliers;If—your—eyes—drop—they will get atop o’ you(Boots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up and down again)—There’s no discharge in the war!
We—can—stick—out—‘unger, thirst, an’ weariness,But—not—not—not—not the chronic sight of ’em—Boots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up an’ down again,An’ there’s no discharge in the war!
‘Tain’t—so—bad—by—day because o’ company,But night—brings—long—strings o’ forty thousand millionBoots—boots—boots—boots, movin’ up an’ down again.There’s no discharge in the war!
I—‘ave—marched—six—weeks in ‘Ell an’ certifyIt—is—not—fire—devils dark or anythingBut boots—boots—boots, movin’ up an’ down again,An’ there’s no discharge in the war!