I fought my WWIII br But then I had to sign the Armistice. br I asked myself, how come br I won and yet feel hollow, br An empty cavern, echoing still br With battle cries and agonizing sighs br Of dying voices, echoes remaining br In my ears. The sailors on the ship br Pantagruel sailed in frozen seas br Moored in the floes and heard the fleeting echoes br All about them: ghosts they cried, br But just their own warm breath was melting br Ice that had frozen voices years ago; br Trapped, now released, the long dead weeping mariners br Found their voice again, br Posthumous haunting souls. br Day by day the phantoms fly away, br Night by night my nightmares become dreams, br Week by week my winter turns to sun, br Month by month the moon becomes a moon again. br The Armistice costs dear but all the gold br Brought home by mariners from distant lands br Cannot replace the peace of home and hearth br And treasured words in warmth and wedding bands.