The Confucian was philosophical. ‘Well, you have to understand…’, he said.
It turns out they were all in a band. The Confucian showed me his instruments, in his kitchen:
Do those really belong in a polka band, I wondered?
As for the lyrics, he said he couldn’t remember, and I’d have to visit the goatman who lived in the RV, he wrote all the lyrics.
Army
If I could find my army
I could save the world
If I could find my army
I swear that I could
If I could find my army
I’d fight for the rights of man
And write up all the wrongs
But I think my army’s gone
I saw seven billion children
Crawling on their knees
Burning in the jungle
Fire flying through the trees
And if I could find my army
Rising from the sea
They’d fall upon the shore
And wash the cities clean
It happened in the summer
A long time ago
By the time that it was over
We were crying on the phone
If I could find my army
I’d tell them in a letter
Now I’m thinking maybe
It was all for the better