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 [bad word] home
& tell me indifference won.

Smile, smile Bobby, with your lovely mouth.
Puck up your troubles, let's head out
to the fountain of dead
& splash about, swim back & 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.