The squad of perfect soldiers in ranks of three by three.
Looking forward, waiting for orders, standing at ease.
Tallest on the right and shortest on the left, with rifles in hand.
Their medals and shoes shining, like the trumpets in their band.
The ensign waving in the wind, flying high and proud.
When they’re called to attention, their feet stomp hard on the ground.
Their creases are sharp and bold and worn by legs that will never grow old
And laced around their shoulders are lanyards that will forever glow gold.
When they’re at attention, they stand with their backs upright
And grip their arms with their white-gloved fists tight
With their belt buckles around their thin waists always shining.
Accompanied by the glorious red trouser leg lining.
Their commander’s eyes are old and pierces their sight,
Just like his sword, that blinds with disciplined light.
They all march together, quickly, maintaining perfect time,
While they keep their heads high within each height - ordered line.
Every step they take forward creates a new story;
While at the same time they lead their country to glory.