调：E major
Verse 1
E
A
E
Thousands lay on the cold, ground,
With his body gashed and his
harrowed the mourns,
A
ground.
E
A
E
Softly, gently, comrade, he cried,
I will never more roam
to my own native home,
E
A
E
They dug a grave, and in it they laid
B
E
A
The bones of Chantresy so brave.
He will never more run
to his own native home
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和弦E A D B
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