All my friends already died, The old man laughed The young one cried The children played The flaws were stoic The coffins weeped The urns were poets
When all the bells Had had their tolls The women filled their Washing bowls The men threw rocks At window panes The children slept On mothers manes
Their skirts blew west Above their waists Young boys whistled Remaining chaste, The world was simple And bombs away When young boys drafted Their young girls stayed
We built their planes And sent their baskets When boys came home We chose their caskets A simpler time Though bombs away The women weeped On holidays
The urns were poets The coffins closed The flaws were stoic The children know The young man laughed The old one cried All sons and friends Already died.