| They flutter behind you your possible pasts
|
| Some bright-eyed and crazy, some frightened and lost
|
| A warning to anyone still in command
|
| «Ranks! |
| Fire»
|
| Of their possible future, to take care
|
| In derelict sidings the poppies entwine
|
| With cattle trucks lying in wait for the next time
|
| Do you remember me? |
| How we used to be?
|
| Do you think we should be closer?
|
| She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smile
|
| Haunting her face like a cheap hotel sign
|
| Her cold eyes imploring the men in their Macs
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| For the gold in their bags or the knives in their backs
|
| Stepping up boldly one put out his hand
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| He said, «I was just a child then, now I’m only a man.»
|
| Do you remember me? |
| How we used to be?
|
| Do you think we should be closer?
|
| By the cold and religious we were taken in hand
|
| Shown how to feel good and told to feel bad
|
| (Tongue tied and terrified we learned how to pray
|
| Now our feelings run deep and cold as the clay)
|
| Strung out behind us the banners and flags
|
| Of our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags
|
| Do you remember me? |
| How we used to be?
|
| Do you think we should be closer? |