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My name is William  Taylor 
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I was born in twenty four Too  late to know the great fallen 
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But in time to know the great fall 
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When my  father  died of  money 
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My   mother  lived in spite 
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We  laughed when nothing was funny 
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But how we wept when nothing was left 
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So I  left her there in  boom town 
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When I reached fifteen years 
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And I travelled mostly northeast 
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With my head held mostly down 
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Cause they  said there was  more in  Baltimore 
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Where those  shipyards never close 
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You can sell the man your  labor 
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Send the  money home Broadway found me  pennyless 
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And the mission found me last 
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They gave me a coat and  three days rest 
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And when I awoke and left a shroud of steam surrounded me 
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And  I was  born away 
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I found myself at Sparrows Point 
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With a sling-shot in my hand 
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And  standing there around me Two thousand idle hands 
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With their heads bowed low 
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Their hopes not high 
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Their hearts weaned of their homes 
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And their  pockets  full of  photographs 
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And their  eyes full of goodbyes 
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I took my  place among my kind 
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And I held my place in line 
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Now I'm  twenty one and well employed 
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And I send home most my pay 
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Which leaves  plenty left for cigarettes 
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To  help me pass the days 
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With beloved friends surrounding me 
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The cold street so  far away 
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Three days  west of  Normandy 
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With a rifle in my hand