Old Man Amy’s March

Old Amy stands by the dusty road With a heavy heart and

an ancient load He remembers the ridge and the steep ravine

And the bravest boys that he'd ever seen

Oh, the ANZAC spirit never dies

Underneath the wide Australian skies He hears the bugle in the morning

breeze

Echoing through the gum tree leaves (ahhh)

He holds his medals close to his chest

Thinking of friends who have gone to rest From Gallipoli shores to

the dusty plain

He carries the honor,

he carries the pain

Oh, the ANZAC spirit never dies

Underneath the wide Australian skies He hears the bugle in the morning

breeze

Echoing through the gum tree leaves (ahhh)

Old man Amy, we

won't forget

(no, we won't forget) Under

the

southern cross