An' when I'm feelin' blue, an' mopin' 'ere
About the pal I've lorst; Doreen, my wife,
She come an' takes my 'and, an' tells me, "Dear,
There'd be more cause to mourn a wasted life.
'E proved 'imself a man; an' 'e's at rest."
An' so, I tries to think sich things is best.
A gallant gentleman... Well, let it go.
They sez they've put them words above 'is 'ead,
Out there where lonely graves stretch in a row;
But Mick 'e'll never mind it now 'e's dead.
An' where 'e's gone, when they weigh praise an' blame,
P'raps gentlemen an' men is much the same.
They fights; an' orl the land is filled wiv cheers.
They dies; an' 'ere an' there a 'eart is broke.
An' when I weighs it orl—the shouts, the tears—
I sees it's well Mick wus a lonely bloke.
'E found a game 'e knoo, an' played it well;
An' now 'e's gone. Wot more is there to tell?
A month ago, fer me the world grew grey;
A month ago the light went out fer Rose;
Becos one common soljer crossed the way,
Leavin' a common message as 'e goes.
But ev'ry dyin' soljer's 'ope lies there:
"Look after Rose. Mafeesh!" Gawd! It's a pray'r!
