Merry is the man with money in his hand
with grease between the wheels and lamps in his latrine
and stacks of fresh towels for his wet hands
counting up all his toys
draining tent fire from the neighbors
sermons from soldier boys
like our young cadet whose lords require sweat
‘til Spain is on its ass surrendering Philippines
He‘s stuck in ruts wearing lead pants
buried chest-deep in a Maginot
Wondering when he'll touch flesh again
next chance he gets, he must tell her:
“Oh, you've got Radium eyes”

He can see his girl with temporary curls
And a doorbell fetching maid pour fêtes a la piscine
but she’s working, changing the bedpans
in cities where none but daughters roam
s tretchers fill every cathedral
tarpaulins drip from each broken dome
“You've got Radium eyes”

Day meets night in your eyes
Black turns white in your eyes