The hour is thin
Trafalgar Square is calm
Birds, and cold, black dark
The final famine of a wicked sun
And the web that died yesterday

I was a hard copy version
I turned my eyes directly to hate
Then, the hammer of toil
Tired with what the world has yet brought forth
With the women waving at war
And the news that war is faith

Filled with tremendous cheering, leaping, and night rings. Ding, dang, and gongs
Who did not feel any purpose?

The phoenix broods serene above the moment
You are fighting for
I wonder what destiny

We waste away our hours and darken
Beneath the velvet of a strong optimism
Britain's most fateful hour is spun
Copy this point on a gong
Choirs, like bells, like a national truce
And the new sun, Where the air is something new
Men dream of a swell so high
Endeavor to get through the lies and the bees
To find something that historians can rake out of the drums, And all that colour and savagery
Boom
The dark
And the web that died yesterday

The phoenix broods serene above the tower of time
Not enough boats
He admitted without shame
That he had entered into the dreams of the named addressee In the velvet of war

Well lad, you've taken my heart away
I shall miss the grin of the cold, black sea
Before ever there was writing
they were taking up stones
To hurl at last stroke
But nobody looked back

There were soldiers
There was a cradle
The universe is required
Please notify the sun