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MARCHING BAND Life will ever go on When death swings her baton, Leads crowds of marching souls Unsmiling, there to pay their toll While we, sidelined, gape at first Then losing interest, slake our thirst At some near bar, or tiled dive Where soon our talk will turn to snide With racy implications Or tenuous intimations And a thousand other things That have a familiar ring, Remote from that unmerry band, Those spirits walking hand in hand. We slip a ...