The Guns, Thank God, The

There Rise Her Timeless Capitals Of Empires Daily Born, Whose Plinths Are Laid At Midnight And Whose Streets Are Packed At Morn; And Here Come Tired Youths And Maids That Feign To Love Or Sin In Tones Like Rusty Razor Blades To Tunes Like Smitten Tin.

I Always Prefer To Believe The Best Of Everybody, It Saves So Much Trouble.

Any Fool Can Waste, Any Fool Can Muddle, But It Takes Something Of A Man To Save, And The More He Saves The More Of A Man Does It Make Of Him.

But Remember Please, The Law By Which We Live, We Are Not Built To Comprehend A Lie, We Can Neither Love Nor Pity Nor Forgive. If You Make A Slip In Handling Us You Die.

It Was The Forty-fathom Slumber That Clears The Soul And Eye And Heart, And Sends You To Breakfast Ravening.