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insensibility - david moore lyrics

happy are men who yet before they are k!lled
can let their veins run cold
whom no compassion fleers
or makes their feet
sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers
the front line withers
but they are troops who fade, not flowers
for poets’ tearful fooling:
men, gaps for filling:
losses, who might have fought
longer; but no one bothers

and some cease feeling
even themselves or for themsеlves
dullness best solvеs
the tease and doubt of sh*lling
and chance’s strange arithmetic
comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling
they keep no check on armies’ decimation

happy are these who lose imagination:
they have enough to carry with ammunition
their spirit drags no pack
their old wounds, save with cold, can not more ache
having seen all things red
their eyes are rid
of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever
and terror’s first constriction over
their hearts remain small*drawn
their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
now long since ironed
can laugh among the dying, unconcerned
happy the soldier home, with not a notion
how somewhere, every dawn, some men attack
and many sighs are drained
happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
his days are worth forgetting more than not
he sings along the march
which we march taciturn, because of dusk
the long, forlorn, relentless trend
from larger day to huger night

we wise, who with a thought besmirch
blood over all our soul
how should we see our task
but through his blunt and lashless eyes?
alive, he is not vital overmuch;
dying, not mortal overmuch;
nor sad, nor proud
nor curious at all
he cannot tell
old men’s placidity from his

but cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns
that they should be as stones
wretched are they, and mean
with paucity that never was simplicity
by choice they made themselves immune
to pity and whatever moans in man
before the last sea and the hapless stars;
whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
whatever shares
the eternal reciprocity of tears

- david moore lyrics

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