Saigon Bride

Farewell my wistful Saigon bride I'm going out to stem the tide A tide which never saw the seas It flows through jungles, round the trees Some say it's yellow, some say red It will not matter when we're dead How many dead men will it take To build a dike that will not break? How many children must we kill Before we make the waves stand still? Though miracles come high today We have the wherewithal to pay It takes them off the streets you know To places they would never go alone It gives them useful trade The lucky boys are even paid Men die to build their Pharoah's tombs And still and still the teeming wombs How many men to conquer Mars How many dead to reach the stars? Farewell my wistful Saigon bride I'm going out to stem the tide Some say it's yellow, some say red It will not matter when we're dead