We're paying hell since Moscow burned
These Cossacks tear us piece by piece
Our dead are strewn a hundred leagues
Though death would be a sweet release

And our grande armeé is dressed in rags
A frozen, starving, beggar-band
Like rats, we steal each other's scraps
We 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.
Oh, the word was ours, we marched upon
Our Little Corporal's commands

And I lost an eye at Austerlitz
The sabre's slash yet give me pain
My one true love awaits me still
The flower of the Aquitaine

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

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

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