Alfred Duckett, Lyric
Amy LaCour, Composer
Alfred A. Duckett
Where are we to go when this is done?
Will we slip into old, accustomed ways,
finding remembered notches, one by one?
Thrashing a hapless way through quickening haze?
Who is to know us when the end has come?
Old friends and families, but could we be
strange to the sight and stricken dumb
at visions of some pulsing memory?
Who will love us for what we used to be
who now are what we are, bitter and cold?
Who is to nurse us with swift subtlety
back to the warm and feeling human fold?
Where are we to go when this is through?
We are the war-born. What are we to do?
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