patty-cake they played and won with
themselves. Their thighs wearing soldiers marks
from a soldiers tune march.
They all would away from Jungle and play
war until their deaths. Saved by the Western world,
ill thought of their graves.
Life to them, saved by faith, was of childish wonder
and even more childish taste.
To those I envy behind my wooden scowl.
To those whom God blesses in his prayers
before he rests.
To those who away and anger by all who didn’t
pass the test.
For whom the bell toils, it ain’t for all. God’ll
For whom the bell toils, send my regards from this
godforsaken foreign soil.