[WiseOldJames{ATL}]

It's an old World War II song called "Kilroy was here" is you could post the lyrics to it or tell me where to find it that would be uberly super, thnx
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[OpTlk]

here ya go

"Kilroy was here

It was All Saints Night and the streets were thick with fog, of that I'm positive. The sounds from
the Harbor rang still and with muffled tones. The tavern was warm and inviting, while outside a
grey mist drenched the exhausted city. The times were troubled and the streets unsafe; and yet, I
felt the need to be away from the forced gaiety of that anxious crowd. The stranger was on the
front step as I opened the door. I did not catch a glimpse of his face - his head was covered by a
cowl-like hood. But there was, about him, something that caught my attention.

Later that evening, I was shocked to see him again on a corner of Christopher, a stone's throw
from the River. He did not fit well in his surroundings but, for that matter, neither did I. I
watched him from across the street. He was framed in an arc of gaslight. I could have sworn that
he was talking to someone but I am certain there was no one there. His eyes appeared to be
tracking shadows up the cobbled lanes that spiral off that street of dreams - or nightmares, as the
case may be.

I was not surprised to see him in St. Malachy's. An acquaintance of mine was being waked - a
distinguished actor who had cut a figure on the stages of Europe; his last encore had drawn a
diffuse, if somewhat bohemian, crowd and so my cloaked and hooded nemesis did not seem out of
place. He stood in the cold shadows at the back of the pews, lifeless except for eyes that burned
with some intensity at a crucified Jesus suspended over the main altar. At one point, my attention
was distracted but when I looked again he was in animated conversation with a tall, distinguished
Jewish gentleman. I thought of introducing myself but decided it was neither the time nor the
place.

At midnight, I found myself back down by the pier side. Trinity's bells were pealing the lateness
of the hour when I noticed him again. He was speaking to a beautiful woman with long, coarse
dark hair that cascaded well below the small of her back. Dressed in a fashion not of this century,
she was forlornly gripping him by the arm, her face white as Holland sheets. I hid in a doorway,
unwilling to trespass on their intimacy but pivoted my body for a better view. From time to time,
he would glance in fear or annoyance at a uniformed figure that seemed to be beckoning to him
from the bow of a ship. My friend, for by now I thought of him as such, appeared to be in two
minds. When suddenly, he seemed to bristle at the sight of the Jewish gentleman advancing down
the quayside. He bent and tenderly kissed the young woman with a degree of loss and passion
unusual for these times; then again, perhaps I am surmising - for he had his back turned to me.
She clung to him as if her life depended on it but he was resolute and his footstep was deliberate
as he mounted the gangway to the ship. Near the top, he turned to look back at her and the hood
slipped from his head. To this day, I shiver when I recall the scene - for I knew that face only too
well."
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