Hanging On The Old Barbed Wire

I'm not sure how many times I've blipped barbed wire in my journal, but they must be adding up now. Possibly because there's just so much of it. I sometimes wonder how far all of the barbed wire in this country would stretch if you laid it out, and then I usually decide that I'd rather not know. The sight of the stuff winds me up in ways that I can't even begin to explain, mostly relating to history and the ways it's been used in the past.

Here's an old soldiers' song from the First World War.

If you want to find the General, I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the General, I know where he is
He's pinning another medal on his chest
I saw him, I saw him
Pinning another medal on his chest
Pinning another medal on his chest

If you want to find the Colonel, I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the Colonel, I know where he is
He's sitting in comfort, stuffing his bloody gut
I saw him, I saw him
Sitting in comfort, stuffing his bloody gut
Sitting in comfort, stuffing his bloody gut

If you want to find the Sergeant, I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the Sergeant, I know where he is
He's drinking all the company rum
I saw him, I saw him
Drinking all the company rum
Drinking all the company rum

If you want to find the Private, I know where he is
I know where he is
I know where he is
If you want to find the Private, I know where he is
He's hanging on the old barbed wire
I saw him, I saw him
Hanging on the old barbed wire
Hanging on the old barbed wire