Cold and dreary May, in Borden morning.

“In a thousand years, no one will care.”

However, here in the next 20 minutes.

“In life and death, nothing is fair.”

Warplanes gather rust in memories.

Shakey hand on tumblers ice.

The Misses, she is entertaining.

“Lines are blurred here. Don’t think twice.”

They are marching. May Borden morning.

“In a thousand years, no one will care.”

Here in the next minutes and hours.

In death and life, there’s little fair.

There’s a poet here driving transport.

He writes and deals now with their pain

We are filming clowns and nightmares.

Marching partners down Lovers Lane.

On a May cold Tuesday morning.

“In a thousand years, no one will care.

I’m stuck here thinking about my babies.

In life and death, there is little fair.