Jesus, Jesus, what's it all about?
Trying to clout these little ingrates into shape.
When I was their age all the lights were out.
There was no time to whine and mope about.
And even now part of me flies over
Dresden at angels one five.
Though they'll never fathom it behind my
Sarcasm desperate memories lie.
Sweetheart, sweetheart are you fast asleep? Good.
'Cause that's the only time that I can really speak to you.
And there is something that I've locked away
A memory that is too painful
To withstand the light of day.
When we came back from the war the banners and
Flags hung on everyone's door.
We danced and we sang in the street and
The church bells rang.
But burning in my heart
The memory smolders on
Of the gunner's dying words on the intercom.
Jesus Christ, I might as well be dead.
I can't see how dangerous
it must feel to me
Training human cogs for the machine
Without some shell-shocked lunatic like me
Bombarding their still soft shells
With sticks and stones
That were lying around
In the pile of unspeakable I'd found
When I turned back to the stone
Turned over the stone
Of my own disappointment back home