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And you’re dead. And you’ve not yet been covered by the ground;
Far through a thousand streets like horses galloping round,
Young and old newsboys spread, rushing about their business,
Hawking papers…
Carnes:The farmer and the cowman should be friends,Oh, the farmer and the cowman should be friends.One man likes to push a plough,The other likes to chase a cow,But that’s no reason why they cain’t be…
You strangers with the broad, thick-veined hands,
Crooked legs and faces hard as leather,
Smelling of sea and tar
And of the rust of thick anchor chains;
Oh, you, strangers to all nations and tongues…