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Our old battalion billets still,
Parades as usual go on,
We buckle in with right good will
And daily our equipment don
As if we meant to fight, but no !
The guns are booming through the air,
The trenches call us on, but oh !
We don't go there, we don't go there !
At night the stars are shining bright
The old world voice is whispering near,
We've heard it when the moon was light,
And London's streets were very dear;