david moore - the deadbeat lyrics
he dropped,—more sullenly than wearily
lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat
and none of us could kick him to his feet;
just blinked at my revolver, blearily;
—didn’t appear to know a war was on
or see the blasted trench at which he stared
“i’ll do ’em in,” he whined, “if this hand’s spared
i’ll murder them, i will.”
a low voice said
“it’s blighty, p’raps, he sees; his pluck’s all gone
dreaming of all the valiant, that aren’t dead:
bold uncles, smiling ministerially;
maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun
in some new home, improved materially
it’s not these stiffs have crazed him; nor the hun.”
we sent him down at last, out of the way
unwounded;—stout lad, too, before that strafe
malingering? stretcher+bearers winked, “not half!”
next day i heard the doc.’s well+whiskied laugh:
“that scum you sent last night soon died. hooray!”
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