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The West’s asleep. Let England shake,
weighted down with silent dead.
I fear our blood won’t rise again.
England’s dancing days are done.
Another day, Bobby, for you to come home
& tell me indifference won.
Smile, smile Bobby, with your lovely mouth.
Pack up your troubles, let’s head out
to the fountain of death
& splash about, swim back and forth
& laugh out loud,
until the day is ending,
& the birds are silent in the branches,
& the insects are courting in the bushes,
& by the shores of lovely lakes
heavy stones are falling.