They disembarked in 45
|
And no one spoke
|
And no one smiled
|
There were too many spaces in the line
|
And gathered at the cenotaph
|
They all agreed with hand on heart
|
To sheath the sacrificial knives
|
But now
|
She stands upon Southampton dock
|
With her handkerchief
|
And her summer frock
|
Clings To her wet body in the rain
|
In quiet desperation
|
Knuckles white upon the slippery reins
|
She bravely waves the boys goodbye again
|
Ooo, Maggie what have you done?
|
|
And still the dark stain spreads between
|
Their shoulder blades
|
A mute reminder
|
Of the poppy fields and graves
|
When the fight was over
|
We spent what they had made
|
But
|
In the bottom of our hearts
|
We felt the final cut
|
|
-----------------
|
Southampton Dock
|
Roger Waters |