Cortège

Four o’clock this afternoon, Fifteen hundred miles away: So it goes, the crazy tune, So it pounds and hums all day.

Four o’clock this afternoon, Earth will hide them far away: Best they go to go so soon, Best for them the grave to-day.

Had she gone but half so soon, Half the world had passed away. Four o’clock this afternoon, Best for them they go to-day.

Four o’clock this afternoon Love will hide them deep, they say; Love that made the grave so soon, Fifteen hundred miles away.

Four o’clock this afternoon-- Ah, but they go slow to-day: Slow to suit my crazy tune, Past the need of all we say.

Best it came to come so soon, Best for them they go to-day: Four o’clock this afternoon, Fifteen hundred miles away.