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There was a memorial in the Cathedral Then one father took a stand, Refusing to grasp and shake The ex leader's bloodied hand. he was dragged up by his boot straps on an inner city sink estate from a family full of love, lived in a street full of hate, and he joined the british army out of a state of despair the only escape he could see to get him out of there. his mam stood proud at his passing out all in her sunday best thought her dear son towered above the rest. and his dad stood there ram rod straight and tried to hid his fears tried to hide his pride tried to hide his tears. they said he died a hero in that far wadi out there in afghanistan when things as it happens didn't quite go to plan. they gave him all military honours they gave him the lot front page in the papers and then the world forgot. and back on his old home sink estate they just get on with their life; rule by the thug and the bully the baseball bat and the knife. and his mam looks so much older now and his dad ain't so straight and deep in their hearts each wonders how it was right. and the padre preaches daily fortitude to each squaddie in the know, and the father of the regiment watches them all come and go, and the world just keeps on turning just like they'd never been as more are wiped out daily by distant killing machines. The ex leader's stock keeps on rising. He's in public office once more. Peace Envoy to the Middle East, He who led us twice to war.
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