There are thousands dance to the atrocity of the wartime blues. 
He thinks it's a shit dance but he likes the war and romance. 
Animal day, send me to war. Me and the boxer. 
Animal day, send me to war, then make a charity. 
He lives in a little black box in the midst of obscurity. 
All the censored things, the terminal disease, 
The filth and obscenity, running the charities 
And all the pretty things feeding our memory.