Discharged

When the fighting days are over,
    And we’re finished with the fray,
When they draft us back to Dover
    To be put on pension pay;
You may think we’ll be in clover
    But remember this, my son,
When the fighting days are over,
    Then our fight has just begun.

It is hard, there’s no disputing,
    Joining up the broken thread,
When we start to seek a footing,
    And to earn our daily bread;
When we find we can no longer
    Occupy our former place,
And a fellow who is stronger
    Canters past us in the race.

Every one who has been through it,
    He’ll have many aches and pains,
Though he’ll not entirely rue it,
    Since the losses have their gains;
But I pray, though times may alter
    And the wheels seem whirling wrong,
That his heart may never falter
    Though his legs may limp along.

And the folks who used to fete us,
    Beaming on us like the sun,
There’s the chance they may forget us
    When the danger days are done:
When there is no longer menace,
    And they’ve found some other fad,
There may be more pangs than pennies
    For a broken soldier lad.

War was this since the beginning,
    While a few made ‘golden gain,’
Others had to pay for winning
    Out of poverty and pain.
Ha! They used to talk of glory
    In the days we donned the pack,
But it’s all a blooming story
    When a lad is limping back.

‘It is rotten,’ you may say it,
    But we’ve got it here to stick,
We’re the boys who have to pay it,
    And we have to pay it slick.
Then, though others are in clover,
    You remember this, my son,
When the fighting days are over,
    Then our fight has just begun.