Call to the lads
When nations are ruffled;
The olive branch
Under the laurels is muffled.
Sanity grinds to a halt
In the mud
And inkpots in Whitehall
Are now filled with blood.
Children now scream
And bloody mouths foam
While Bombadier 'Blindly'
Gets letters from home
And banner-draped coffins
In garrison towns
Are slyly ignored
By 'right honourable' clowns.
Time has moved on
Since talk of twin towers
Yet nobody questions
The judgment of powers
For where lies the evil?
We jump stone to stone
In different countries
Miles far from home.
No longer the heroes,
No longer the rolls
Of glorious fighters,
The funeral bell tolls.
Pack up the egos,
Pack up the flags,
Bring home no more
The squaddies in bags;
No more excuses,
You knew all along;
So finally admit
That you got it wrong...