There’s a place where soldiers go when the battle is o’er,
A place of sunshine, fields of poppies and emerald clover.A place where generals and privates first classCan hoist their glass after a requiem high massWhen the battle is o’er.
There’s a place where soldiers go when the battle is o’er,
A place where ships pull up anchor,
Planes fly to meet the sky,
A place where the Marines all yell, “Semper Fi,”
A place where “the caisson’s go rolling along,”
A place where the angels stand at attention
When each name is mentioned,
A place where soldiers go when the battle is o’er.
There’s a place where soldiers go when the battle is o’er,A place where orders echo throughout the heavens,
A place where cadence is sung with rhythm and song.
That’s the place where soldiers belongWhen the battle is o’er.
There’s a place where soldiers go when the battle is o’er.
At the dawn of each new day, the bugle blows reveille
And the angels sing in revelry.“My Country ΄Tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty,
Of Thee I Sing.”The flag is raised to the highest point;

All salute with stiffened arm, polished brass, uniforms pressedWhen the order is given, “Eyes Right” and “Dress Right, Dress.” When the day ends and the sun surrenders its light
To the moon’s brilliance,The bugle blows the final note of “Retreat.”
That’s the place where soldiers go when the battle is o’er.