MATT HILL

Lyrics

With my face pressed hard on a sandbag as the trench starts filling with mud
Bullets are flying, grown men are crying I sense that these odds are not good
So I find myself reminiscing about the first time I sailed to New York
You see I wasn't always a soldier but I've been a fighter from the day I could walk

I was whistling 'the leaving of Liverpool' as the Pier Head disappeared
With the roar of the crowd and my true love's tears stinging in my ears
I soon found myself mid-Atlantic in a storm that had blown up from hell
As the wind cut my cheek I whispered a prayer and someone rang a bell

And the harder it blows the more I know it will not knock me down
So I turn my face to the ocean and stare the bastard down


A thousand miles up in the distance, someone's pasting a bill to a wall
It says “Battling Billy will box here in Philly” so come watch the Englishman fall
That first night I fought in Manhattan this Frenchman was giving me hell
As his glove cut my cheek, I whispered a prayer, and someone rang a bell

But the harder his blows the more I know he will not knock me down
So I turn and face my opponent and stare the bastard down

This century’s younger than I am, but already she's taken much more
I'm stuck in France sparring with chance but this time I'm fighting a war
I wish I was back on the fairgrounds but wishes won't rid me this hell
Barbed wire cuts my cheek, I whisper a prayer, and someone rings a bell

And the harder the blows the more I know they will not knock me down
So I turn my face to the bullets and stare the bastards down