It's simple because it is the people. Fighting for and claiming what remains. And dreaming, this is not dreaming. This is the exodus from the game. Chorus.
When Johnny comes marching home again, hurah tada. He's coming by bus or underground, hurah tada. The world no doubt will shed a tear to see his face so beaten in fear.
Oh there was once a man who had lost his own smile. And he wandered the country mile after mile. Never quite knowing what he wanted to find. For his heart it lay heavy with the weight of his mind.
At the edge of the world nothing is said. Call a witness. Conversation is dead. We pray for the coming. . But we don't hear a word. We're all waiting around the edge of the world.