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 its ass

Surrend'ring 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 fêtes a la piscine

But she's working, changing the bedpans

In cities where none but daughters roam

Stretchers fill ev'ry cathedral

Tarpaulins drip from each broken dome

"You've got Radium eyes"

Day meets night in your eyes

"Oh, you've got Radium eyes"