WELL, you have gone now, comrades,

And I shall see no more

The gallant friendly faces

Framed in my dug-out door.

I had no words to tell you

The things I longed to say,

But the company is empty

Since you have gone away.

The company is filled now

With faces strange to see,

And scarce a man of the old men

That lived and fought with me.

I know the drafts are good men,

I know they're doing well,

But they're not the men I slept with

Those nights at La Boiselle.

Oh, the old days of friendship

We shall not see again,

The bitter winter trenches

And the marches in the rain.

Bécourt, Authuille, Thiepval,

Henancourt, Avelay,

Their names are keys that open

Remembered doors to me.

Doors that will open never

Upon this tortured land.

I shall not see you ever,

Or take you by the hand.

Only for ancient friendship,

For all the times we knew,

Maybe you will remember

As I remember you.