Summer death, slow step 

Walk behind the mother of the thirteen year old brown-eyed boy 

Attitudes, attitudes

Sloganized by middle boots

The men who slogged the brown-eyed boy



And it's the end of everything that you've been told about

Decency, honesty

And it's the end of holding back and breaking bones and building bombs

And hanging witch-hunts conducted by men of such opinion



Repeat first verse



And it's the end of building roads to load the dead to someone else's field

And it's the end of falling back on breaking backs and aching handshakes

And playing fields conducted by men of such opinion



But the fathers crossed you boys

I fire so heaven knows it only righteous folk

But righteous taste hold the keys to sitting grace

To conduct and to proclaim decisions made of such opinions 



And it's the time of summer days

When children sing about the killing fields

Winter melts the snow and knees will crack on rock 

And the iron on earth beneath the dearth bequeathed

Mailshots by men of such opinion