The Shrophshire Lad: V. The street sounds to the soldiers’ tread
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The street sounds to the soldier's dread
And out we come to see
A single red coat turns his head
He turns and looks at me
My man from sky to skies
So far we never crossed before
Such leagues apart the world's ends are
We're like to meet no more
What thoughts at heart have you and I
We cannot stop to tell
But dead or living, drunk or dry
Dead or living, drunk or dry
Soldier, I wish you well
I wish you well