Pembroke-Rechardt Daemon had just dropped by to pa** the time With a peaceful cigarette Or maybe with a roll-up filter-tip He'd still not made it yet Yes, went on down that old cafe By the harbour for a little change of view Took a seat next to the window Like he would like to do Saw the fishing boats The time children fighting over an ice-cream cone And a pack of Camels on the shelf and beach Through the rings of smoke he'd blown Chimney shadows of the factories Grey walls across the floor Telegraph-poles and sandy coves Running down and alone to the shore Yes, and the statue by the quayside Of the lancer, once so proud and brave All in remembrance of his heroic deeds As he lies at peace in his grave Yes, in eighteen twenty-four Somebody had won a war for sure, he thought And there were flags and ribbons waving There was feast and celebration, in the air cries of joys While outside by a steam-shovel Was a child playing with a toy Cheap evening return Cheap evening return Cheap evening return Yes, in nineteen thirty-four Somebody had lost a war There was trial and tribulation Oh and the laundry lines with pants that dance Shirts flying in the careless breeze Overgrown garden-house, gla**, doctor, leaves Falling from the trees Like merging into one, lemmings on the run Perhaps should be somewhere else, who could Slithering down the sky was candy floss The child had tossed it up against the window pane And by nineteen something or other Yes somebody might like another war There could be nothin' left to fight for anymore There'll be feast and celebration, in the air cries of joy While outside by a little barrel Was a child playing with a toy Cheap evening return Cheap evening return Cheap evening return