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We all stand at attention,
left arms stiff at our sides.
Bodies straight, tall and proud,
right arm saluting in pride.

Our fallen comrades are hoisted up,
to shoulder height they lay.
Carried by eight of their brothers in arms,
then the Bag Pipes start to play.

The music moves our souls,
with the spirits of the lost.
All four are slow-marched in succession,
following two men with a cross.

We struggle to fight the tears,
the hurt inside starts to swell.
Our throats get all choked up,
I feel the need to yell.

Why was it you and not me?
the guilt I feel is so intense.
But that question can never be answered,
death will never make sense.

Tears now fill our eyes,
as the silver coffins are marched past.
The Canadian flag drapes across them,
flags that will forever be at half-mast.

We think about the battle,
we think about their lives.
We think of all the memories,
we pray for their families and wives.

These soldiers fought for their country,
and paid the ultimate cost.
They are brave and truly courageous,
and their memory will never be lost.

We know they’ve met St. Peter,
and are beyond heaven’s pearly gates.
They’re at peace now from this hellish war,
and away from all this hate.

Our arms snap to attention,
and we taste our salty tears.
We hurt so much for the loss of you,
we wish that you were still here.

We bow our heads in one last prayer,
touch your caskets and say goodbye.
We will miss you all so dearly,
but will smile when we look up at the sky.

We’ll think of you often,
and how you’ve touched us all.
We’ll go and celebrate the lives you led,
we’ll stay up until last call.

We’ll hold our glasses high,
and we’ll cheers to your life and name.
And we’ll slam that shot down and smile,
because we know you’re doing the same.