Sunday, 24 January 2010
Look at them all, gaze into their eyes,
Seek the true measure of the men,
For you sent them to war with lies,
And to fight and die in distant lands.
Yet our heroes fell unsullied by sin,
And they rise as immaculate angels,
Heroes defined by their brave deeds,
Whispering as they die for their mothers.
They did not kill for profits or prophets,
Nor for oil and Israel, nor pipelines too,
They bore arms in defence of Britain,
But were betrayed by their own clansmen.
In the dust and heat of distant lands,
The boys at war soon become men,
And if death greets them on the road,
They shall live on, their souls hallowed.
And they shall rise, resplendent,
When Albion returns renewed,
And armoured with holy vision,
Be as new suns, burning in the blue.
The darkness shall flee and a new dawn rise,
And lady hope will bless us with a reprise,
Her fingers will pluck upon the sacred strings,
And her sacred harp thrill, as a new song begins.
But your hell will be a cold prison cell,
With pictures painted on its bare walls,
The faces of every fallen British soldier,
Who you led with lies into the slaughter.