you think the time's a ghost of what has been
these clumsy children heading into strife
our parents knew that call of drum and fife
but could not tell the world they sought to win
how much was lost not now beneath the din
of horn and trumpet in clamour that's rife
with heavy anger at the joke of life
can we yet say that hope is turned a sin
the price we paid for wisdom in hard rain
and toil under the sun you will forget
since each alone must walk the final mile
as each conspires to hide the honest pain
persuade the child that parasite's a pet
and go to darkness bearing a bright smile
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