To fall in line and answer to our names;
An order then came to move without delay,
And very soon we were marching on the way.
Around the hill our line was strung,
There was no blowing of the fife or beating of the drum,
An order in a whisper came down the line
That no one must talk even in a whisper at any time.
We marched all night with scarcely a stop
So still we could have heard a pencil drop;
We were marching on to a certain doom,