An Array Of Passionate Lovers

by Clive James and Pete Atkin

The troops of love are pulling out
You can see it from the air
A slow retreat you couldn't call a rout
But they're whispering what they used to shout
And even the stoned have a thoughtful stare
There there there there
It's all over
The children of the dream are coming home

You'll have to run in special lines
To call the next of kin
Get the blankets off the trucks
Hang the plasma bottles on the hooks
The revolution's coming in

The troops of love are falling back
From the high ground to the plain
And a loaf of bread in a polythene sack
Costs a whole dime bag of uncut smack
And many a coaster gapes with the pain
Of needle-tracks into every vein
When that faithful nail reaches breaking strain
The main line is never the same again
There there there there
It's all over
The children of the dream are coming home

That big-mouthed dude in the flash duds
Preached fighting in the streets
But the crowd of kids held an angel with a knife
Who carved himself a slice of another guy's life
And the blooms of blood unfolded from the buds
And the bad karma came down in sheets
And the troops of love got wise, they were paying
Too much for their seats

The troops of love are pulling out
You can see it from the air
A slow retreat you couldn't call a rout
But they're whispering what they used to shout
And even the stoned have a thoughtful stare
And they all wear blood-knots in their hair
There there there there
It's all over
The children of the dream are coming home