Текст песни: Fourteen Hundred Hours + перевод

I reckon I parked in the last empty space:

The High Street was already full

The media circus was well under way

With their cameras and tripods and all;

And there’s Mister Collier whom everyone knows

In his coat and his fine feathered hat

This isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last

I regret that I’m certain of that, mmm…

And somebody’s wearing a poppy

That most symbolic of flowers;

And how the silence spreads

When they’re bringing them home

At fourteen hundred hours

Marshall’s, the Bakery. J Rouse, hardware

Crump and Son, Butcher…

Well, the veteran motorbike club’s out in force

And their stories should also be sung;

But it’s soldiers in uniform all down the street

And dear gods, but they look so very young

It’s good-natured chatter and stranger-well-met

In this Wiltshire market town —

And the locals and visitors stand side by side

As the shops and the cafés close down, close down;

And somebody’s wearing a poppy

That most symbolic of flowers;

And how the silence spreads;

They’re bringing them home

It’s fourteen hundred hours

Up…

Down

Перевод песни Fourteen Hundred Hours