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.
