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
and tell me indifference won.

Smile, smile Bobby, with your lovely mouth.
Pack up your troubles, let’s head out
to the fountain of death
and splash about, swim back & forth
and laugh out loud,

until the day is ending,
and the birds are silent in the branches,
and the insects are courting in the bushes,
and by the shores of lovely lakes
heavy stones are falling.