| Walking through the city after recent rain
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| Heard ancient stones all shining murmur where are they?
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| How long before next hero’s day
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| And the splendid show of drum and gun
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| Walking by the river one September eve
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| Saw questions rise in circles on that old dark stream
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| Where now are those who dared to dream
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| They would leave one jewel in England’s hand
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| Gone to sleep they lie in flowered graves
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| For the visitors and Guidebook saved
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| But come the trumpet shattered dawn
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| Will the spirit they shared be reborn
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| Comrades in arms, may they rise, fight and shine again,
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| Till «who goes there», will be answered with friend again
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| Once there stood a man, alone, sword in his hand
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| In the face of the teeth and flame
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| And it was all in England’s name
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| I was told how she grew, she alone shone her light on everyone
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| And if you made the first eleven then you’d be sure to get to heaven,
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| Like the captain of the school
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| I was taught how to win
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| And to lose with that «get you next time"smile,
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| Learned Latin verbs in fear of a beating
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| And for years thought central heating,
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| Was for just old people’s homes
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| I was raised on the past, the Tower and Saint Paul’s and Westminster
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| Escorted well-bred girls to dances, and learned to drive a horse in harness,
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| Through the English countryside
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| I was taught to behave, like an officer and a gentleman,
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| And when I finally marched from Sandhurst
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| I learned to put my fellow man first
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| And there was daily talk of war
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| I spent 1938 in the United States of America,
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| I grew to love it’s many faces, and they had built some amazing places,
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| And I thought they´d come in on our side |