who doesn’t feel the daily press
the loss of which is ever here
down county forty-three we rode

where is the promised world of bliss
where what we did or didn’t dare
and saw the blighted land go hushed

i don’t remember i confess
is brought from far to very near
each dark and emptied out abode

so many hits have gone amiss
a destiny we all can share
the sky i swear looked down and blushed