Better Off Dead

I’ve always found it somewhat strange

No! Surreal is the word

The way we glorify the war

In film and spoken word

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This is no attempt to scorn

Those men who paid the price

Quite the opposite is true

But wouldn’t it be nice

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To look after the living

Whilst they’re still around

Not wait till Al Qaeda

Have stuck them in the ground

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Under fire in Helmand province

Some Godforsaken hole

Fighting for Blair and country

It’s better than the dole

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Let’s get back on topic

We’re talking about lives

There’s more dough for the dead, pal

Than weeping kids and wives

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Trumpets, pomp and fancy funerals

Coffins draped with flags

Dignitaries saluting

The rows of body bags

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But who was there to bother

When they all went out?

Just the wives and families

With stomachs in, chests out

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Something on the morning show

Woke up my sleeping mind

We spend more money on the graves

Than the wives who are left behind

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The boys went out with cardboard boots

And jeeps made out of tin

Yet we bring them back in coffins

Accompanying military din

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“Necessary evil”

And “Expedient”’s bandied round

The only mass destruction

Is when Daddy can’t be found

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There’s more Victoria Crosses

Given to the dead

They gave their lives for England

“Could someone pass the bread?”

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Pompous politicians

Tell us why we’re there

Yet each and every conflict

Lacks planning and due care

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This poem could be written

Down the centuries

The story never changes

Just the weapons and the ease –

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– with which we slip into the carnage

Union Jacks held high

Never think about the outcome

Never questioning “But why?”

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I think it’s the hypocrisy

The politicos band about

Ranting on about the honour

Masking all the doubt

 

“Ultimate sacrifice, don’t you know!”

All jolly fine working chaps

Try giving them some guns that work

Not friendly fire ‘mishaps’

 

And while we’re on the subject

Of inefficient tanks

Give our lads the right stuff

Don’t force nicking off the Yanks

 

We should go back to the old days

When the king stood at the front

Not hiding down in Whitehall

Like some lily-livered cunt

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So think about the girlfriends

The families and wives

Desperate for a hand-out

To help their shattered lives

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They don’t want shiny medals

Accepted through the tears

Try giving them decent money

To ease those stolen years

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