We've been shooting strangers Over waters and the wild; But conscience is forgotten In the tearing wind. We stood up in battlements of dust To cut down what would live: "Worms and tyrants all must die---" Nothing was as pleasure is. Said a dark voice hid in the bush. The mob is filled with insane joy, The banners in the street Hang from pole and lamppost Hang ripe like butchered meat. What happiness or bliss is there In conversing with a face Uncle Sam has painted blank For every circumstance? Said a dark voice hid in the bush. In a folded tent there's room For filching treachery; Standing near, the slaughter's done We'll collect an oiled fee. Dead men lie face down in bed, A hole in every spine; How goes the empire's rate When we to cowardice decline? Said a dark voice hid in the bush. What if great washington lived, That stern face breathing near, What thoughtless sentence then Transform to pleas our cheers? Nothing was as pleasure is, And God's a neglected child; We've been shooting strangers Over waters in the wild. Said a dark voice hid in the bush.