Done With Bonaparte - Mark Knopfler

We’ve paid in hell since Moscow burned

As Cossacks tear us piece by piece

Our dead are strewn a hundred leagues

Though death would be a sweet release

And our grande arm?

e is dressed in rags

A frozen starving beggar band

Like rats we steal each other’s scraps

Fall to fighting hand to hand

Save my soul from evil, Lord

And heal this soldier’s heart

I’ll trust in thee to keep me, Lord

I’m done with Bonaparte

What dreams he made for us to dream

Spanish skies, Egyptian sands

The world was ours, we marched upon

Our little Corporal’s command

And I lost an eye at Austerlitz

The sabre slash yet gives me pain

My one true love awaits me still

The flower of the aquitaine

I pray for her who prays for me

A safe return to my belle France

We prayed these wars would end all wars

In war we know is no romance

And I pray our child will never see

A little Corporal again

Point toward a foreign shore

Captivate the hearts of men