Mark Knopfler

Weve 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 arme is dressed in rags
A frozen starving beggar band
Like rats we steal each others scraps
Fall to fighting hand to hand
Save my soul from evil, lord
And heal this soldiers heart
Ill trust in thee to keep me, lord
Im done with bonaparte
What dreams he made for us to dream
Spanish skies, egyptian sands
The world was ours, we marched upon
Our little corporals command
And I lost an eye at austerlitz
The sabre slash yet gives me pain