From the 1984 album Dreamtime.
KC and the Sunshine Band with Please don't go. From the 1979 album Do you wanna go party.
Singer's Harry Wayne Casey, KC is phonetic for his last name. Band's from FLA, that's why.
"Photo taken at the Family Allowances offices of Rosny-sous-Bois on Tuesday 4 November 2014. For those who are no geography aces, Rosny-sous-Bois is in FRANCE (93-Seine, Saint-Denis), close to Paris.
Keep working, they need you!"
Legate, I had the news last night --my cohort ordered home
By ships to Portus Itius and thence by road to Rome.
I've marched the companies aboard, the arms are stowed below:
Now let another take my sword. Command me not to go!
I've served in Britain forty years, from Vectis to the Wall,
I have none other home than this, nor any life at all.
Last night I did not understand, but, now the hour draws near
That calls me to my native land, I feel that land is here.
Here where men say my name was made, here where my work
Here where my dearest dead are laid--my wife--my wife and
Here where time, custom, grief and toil, age, memory, service,
Have rooted me in British soil. Ah, how can I remove?
For me this land, that sea, these airs, those folk and fields surffice.
What purple Southern pomp can match our changeful Northern
Black with December snows unshed or pearled with August
The clanging arch of steel-grey March, or June's long-lighted
You'll follow widening Rhodanus till vine an olive lean
Aslant before the sunny breeze that sweeps Nemausus clean
To Arelate's triple gate; but let me linger on,
Here where our stiff-necked British oaks confront Euroclydon!
You'll take the old Aurelian Road through shore-descending
Where, blue as any peacock's neck, the Tyrrhene Ocean shines.
You'll go where laurel crowns are won, but--will you e'er forget
The scent of hawthorn in the sun, or bracken in the wet?
Let me work here for Britain's sake--at any task you will--
A marsh to drain, a road to make or native troops to drill.
Some Western camp (I know the Pict) or granite Border keep,
Mid seas of heather derelict, where our old messmates sleep.
Legate, I come to you in tears--My cohort ordered home!
I've served in Britain forty years. What should I do in Rome?
Here is my heart, my soul, my mind--the only life I know.
I cannot leave it all behind. Command me not to go!