War Drums (Scharkie)/Well, It's Queer
WELL, IT'S QUEER.
Well, it's queer, no mistake,
What a little will make
Two nations spring up for a battle,—
Like dogs for a bone,
Or bulls overgrown,
To be lords of a few simple cattle.
What a little will make
Two nations spring up for a battle,—
Like dogs for a bone,
Or bulls overgrown,
To be lords of a few simple cattle.
Sure, the world's full of riot,
And squabblings unquiet,
To blare on the height of its fashions.
It fights at a tangent,
For jealousy rankles,
And men are the tools of their passions.
And squabblings unquiet,
To blare on the height of its fashions.
It fights at a tangent,
For jealousy rankles,
And men are the tools of their passions.
We look in our madness,
And we say, half in sadness,
"Who will shiver the idols we cherish?
The greed of the people
Becomes a high steeple,
Which, in climbing, the nation will perish."
And we say, half in sadness,
"Who will shiver the idols we cherish?
The greed of the people
Becomes a high steeple,
Which, in climbing, the nation will perish."
A thin voice speaks lowly—
Slowly, ah! slowly,
Thin as the owlet that screeches,
We, when we drop frock,
Chemises, and smock,
And stalk forth in masculine breeches."
Slowly, ah! slowly,
Thin as the owlet that screeches,
We, when we drop frock,
Chemises, and smock,
And stalk forth in masculine breeches."