I heard a newborn baby cry, I watched an old campaigner die, I asked myself why, why, why, I can’t get an answer,When the last man has laid down his gun, When my last serenade has come,When the last game has run, Into His glory day I want ancient wings, I want ancient strings, why? Because nobody wants to die Leave youth …
Crashing into the stench of gas, mud blood and human limbs everywhere, Ypres, the Somme, Passchendaele, strange Hells mingled with church bells, ‘Boy Tom’ and Archie forty foot between them, and forty foot away from an agony that blows human forms away with roll a dice luck. Shadows on a negative black and white horizon …
When I go people will say things. Don’t listen to them. People and friends love to put a nice full stop on things. Funerals are usually a theatre for the mourners. Very seldom do they relate to the dead. The body in the coffin will prove that silence speaks the truth. And what of me? …