1900 (All We Can Do Is Carry On)
Through the cemetery, way out back
The people walked in a lifeless line
Everybody was dressed in black
Poppa slept in a box made of pine
Momma held a kerchief
I noticed that her face was dry
But through the lump in my throat I could hardly speak
To ask her why she would not cry
“All we can do is carry on, boy.
She said, “All we can do is carry on.
The morning I said goodbye to my gal
She cried as I boarded the train
“All I know is it’s a cruel, world.”
We could hardly see each other through the rain
“Will I ever see you again?
Will you write me every day?
“When will this stupid war ever end?
What prayers should I say?”
“All we can do is carry on, dear.”
I said, “All we can do is carry on, amen”
The story goes that there was a child
Who was born while I was away
I held the letter to my chest and I slept with a smile
On the Western Front that day
Then later on, it was the 4th of June,
I came home from the war
But a flu came through and took her away
Our first-born was no mo-o-ore.
But four more children were to come
In the years that did ensue
A nation in need; there were mouths to feed
Depression came out of the blue
A job over here, a misdemeanor over there
The money was hard to find
With luck, I got a job on a railroad train
It was the Michigan Central line
Well, things got better and things got worse
When the country went to war again
I could have sworn my life was cursed
When my boys became enlisted men
When they returned from Iwo Jima
One of them had a bronze star
The other boy had the shakes real bad
He had got himself a purple heart
All that he could do was carry on, now,
All he could do was carry on.
So we all sat down to the radio,
Jackie Robinson was on the field
You could hear the people cheering in the stadium
‘Was a feeling that we might be healed
Toast of the Town on Sunday night
Elvis Presley made my daughters cry
But fission got hot and the war went cold
It seemed that the bombs might fly
In ’69 I retired from the line.
Golden years to enjoy
I had one grandson, went to Viet Nam —
The other was a hippy boy
Great men back then were taken by
The hand of the devil, some say
I could only shake my head and look at the sky
And wonder how we lost our way
All we could do was carry on, then,
All we could do was carry on.
This is the story of 1900 —
It’s the story of a destiny
Of a people who lived in a turbulent time
Called the 20th century
It’s a story of heroes and escapades
Of paupers, kings and the bourgeoisie
This is the tale of the human kind
And the struggle to be free.
Of the angels in the morning
And the devils of the night
And we who pretend to be mortal
And keep on swinging when we’ve lost the fight….
Then one day, while playing the fairway
A pain soared through my chest
A warm blanket fell all around my world
It was finally time for a rest
But it won’t be long, I’ll be born again
On another beautiful day
On a planet that spins in the firmament
I wouldn’t miss my part in the play
All I can do is carry on now,
All I can do is carry on.
©Kris Sciba 2019 All Rights Reserved
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