"Waking brow, descending sun
To scenes that strum, still sawing away
Break for the wayward and for the stranger
We're all in this danger, said the screed on the wall.
Through it all, through it all
Force of will and wishful thinking
We straggle and scrape, and slog
Right on through
Here's to plotting the true
Here's to the string player's lament
Here's to a marching slow pace
Here's to the last funeral song
Through it all, through it all
Force of will and wishful thinking
Straggled and strayed, we've sawed
Right on through
"