Words to Strange Music

March—march—march! Making sounds as they tread, Ho-ho! how they step, Going down to the dead! Every stride, every tramp, Every footfall is nearer; And dimmer each lamp, As darkness grows drearer: But ho! how they march, Making sounds as they tread; Ho-ho! how they step, Going down to the dead!

March—march—march! Making sounds as they tread, Ho-ho, how they laugh, Going down to the dead! How they whirl—how they trip, How they smile, how they dally, How blithesome they skip, Going down to the valley; Oh ho, how they march, Making sounds as they tread; Ho-ho, how they skip, Going down to the dead!

March—march—march! Earth groans as they tread! Each carries a skull; Going down to the dead! Every stride—every stamp, Every footfall is bolder; ’Tis a skeleton’s tramp, With a skull on his shoulder; But ho, how he steps With a high tossing head, That clay-covered bone, Going down to the dead!