Where are all our heroes gone?
Where the ones who dared and bled?
Buried beneath the setting sun,
Forgotten, with the deeds they’ve done?
Who will sing their songs again,
Or speak their words for us once more,
And dream, in dreams of anguished pain, 
A better world, where love is law?

I wake each day to darkening clouds,
And wonder how all by us was lost,
Reduced to dust in mouldy shrouds,
As summer’s dew transforms to frost.
Where the shadows, the light, the trees,
The way of life, the way of death,
The ancient bird that flew the seas,
That gentle air, your yearning breath?

The many claim, “oh, he’s the one, yes, he’s the truth,”
Yet on looking close there’s nothing there,
But vapours foul, the wars the proof,
The Earth destroyed, without a care,
Though one Imagined, then was shot,
For singing of the working class,
While others in their prisons rot,
And our hopes? - They're just so much shattered glass.