Merry is the man   With money in his hand   With grease between the wheels   And lamps in his latrine      And stacks of fresh towels for his wet hands   Counting up all his toys   Draining tent fire from the neighbors   Sermons from soldier boys      Like our young cadet   Whose lords require sweat   Til Spain is on its ass   Surrend’ring Philippines      He‘s stuck in ruts wearing lead pants   Buried chest-deep in a Maginot   Wondering when he'll touch flesh again   Next chance he gets, he must tell her:      Oh, you've got Radium eyes      He can see his girl   With temporary curls,   Her doorbell fetching maid,   Pour fêtes a la piscine      But she’s working, changing the bedpans   In cities where none but daughters roam   Stretchers fill ev'ry cathedral   Tarpaulins drip from each broken dome      You've got Radium eyes      Day meets night in your eyes.      Oh, you've got Radium eyes