To an Athlete Dying Young
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Lyrics adapted from "To an Athlete Dying Young" by A. E. Housman

The time you won your town the race
We chaired you through the market-place;
Man and boy and boy and man stood cheering by,
And home we brought you shoulder-high.

Today, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Oo smart lad, o to slip betimes away
From fields where glory doesn't stay,

Early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.
Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
Silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears.

Oo now o now you won't swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out

So set before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low
lintel up, hold it up, hold it up
Ah ah ah