My name is William Taylor
I was born in twenty four Too late to know the great fallen
But in time to know the great fall
When my father died of money
My mother lived in spite
We laughed when nothing was funny
But how we wept when nothing was left
So I left her there in boom town
When I reached fifteen years
And I travelled mostly northeast
With my head held mostly down
Cause they said there was more in Baltimore
Where those shipyards never close
You can sell the man your labor
Send the money home Broadway found me pennyless
And the mission found me last
They gave me a coat and three days rest
And when I awoke and left a shroud of steam surrounded me
And I was born away
I found myself at Sparrows Point
With a sling-shot in my hand
And standing there around me Two thousand idle hands
With their heads bowed low
Their hopes not high
Their hearts weaned of their homes
And their pockets full of photographs
And their eyes full of goodbyes
I took my place among my kind
And I held my place in line
Now I'm twenty one and well employed
And I send home most my pay
Which leaves plenty left for cigarettes
To help me pass the days
With beloved friends surrounding me
The cold street so far away
Three days west of Normandy
With a rifle in my hand