The drummer boy

If my mother could work magic

she would go off with the regiment

to France. She would go everywhere with them

and be a camp follower selling supplies.

In camp at midnight

when there is noone up except the watch

and everybody is snoring, horses and men,

that's when I would sit in front of my drum.

The drum would turn into a bowl

with warm sauerkraut in it

The drumsticks, knife and fork,

a long sausage - that was my sabre.

My shako would be a good mug

that I would fill with burgundy's blood.

And because I would not have a light

the moon would shine into my tent.

Even if it was shining in French

I would still be reminded of my love.

Oh dear! That's brought the fun to an end.

If only my mother could work magic.