Merry is the man With money in his hand With grease between the wheels And lamps in his latrine And stacks of fresh towels for his wet hands Counting up all his toys Draining tent fire from the neighbors Sermons from soldier boys Like our young cadet Whose lords require sweat 'Til Spain is on it's ass Surrendering Philippines He's stuck in ruts wearing lead pants Buried chest-deep in a Maginot Wondering when he'll touch flesh again Next chance he gets, he must tell her: "Oh, you've got Radium eyes" He can see his girl With temporary curls, Her doorbell fetching maid, Pour fкtes a la piscine But she's working, changing the bedpans In cities where none but daughters roam Stretchers fill evry cathedral Tarpaulins drip from each broken dome "You've got Radium eyes" Day meets night in your eyes. "Oh, you've got Radium eyes"