Fickle Sun (I)

And on the day the work is done
We toil away in fickle sun
And on the day the wire is spun
And so the dismal work is done.

All over here it's darkened still
A cumulus of pride and will
Dissolved in all the oil and steam
The will of all our hopeless schemes.

The line is long, the line is great
And humans turning back to clay
Right there beneath the fickle sun
The empty eyes, the end begun.

Oh, the crew is done.

Now the boats are all astray
There's no one rowing anyway
There's no one rowing anymore
The end has come, the men ashore.

All the boys are going down
Falling over, one night gone
All the boys are turned around
Long for soldiers everyone
All the boys are falling down
Fallen to ashes in the ground.

When I was a young soldier
I turned my eyes directly to the sun
To burn off all that I had seen
(?)
To wipe away what I had to be
(?)
To be recast as something new
(?)
When I was a young soldier
(The brittle foil, the breaks of light)
When I was a young soldier
(Click click click click)
When I was a young soldier
(Click click click click).

(And on the day the work is done)
(And on the day the chick had sung)
When I was a young soldier
(And on the day the wind had sung)
When I was a young soldier
(And on the day the work is done)
When I was a young soldier
(And on the day the chick had sung)
When I was a young soldier
(And on the day the wind had sung)
When I was a young soldier
(And on the day the work is done)
When I was a young soldier
(And on the day the chick had sung)
When I was a young soldier
(And on the day the wind had sung)
(When I was a young soldier)
When I was a young soldier
(When I was a young soldier).

(The brittle foil, the breaks of light)
[?]
(The brittle foil, the breaks of light)