"...a group of business men announced plans to build a nuclear fallout shelter at Peterborough in Cambridgeshire...""...three high court judges have cleared the way to...""...it was announced today, that the replacement for the Atlantic Conveyor, the container ship lost in Falklands conflict,would be built in Japan. A spokesman for...""...moving in. They say the third world countries like Bolivia, which produce the drug, are suffering from rising violence..." Tell me true, tell me why was Jesus crucifiedWas it for this that Daddy died?Was it you? Was it me?Did I watch too much T.V.?Is that a hint of accusation in your eyes? If it wasn't for the NipsBeing so good at building shipsThe yards would still be open on the ClydeAnd it can't be much fun for themBeneath the rising sunWith all their kids committing suicide. What have we done? Maggie, what have we done?What have we done to England?Should we shout? Should we scream?"What happened to the post war dream?"Oh Maggie, Maggie what did we do?

They flutter behind you, your possible pastsSome brighteyed and crazy, some frightened and lostA warning to anyone still in command"Ranks, fire!"Of their possible future, to take careIn derelict sidings the poppies entwineWith cattle trucks lying in wait for the next time Do you remember me? How we used to be?Do you think we should be closer? She stood in the doorway, the ghost of a smileHaunting her face like a cheap hotel signHer cold eyes imploring the men in their macsFor the gold in their bags or the knives in their backsStepping up boldly one put out his handHe said, "I was just a child then, now I'm only a man." Do you remember me? How we used to be?Do you think we should be closer? By the cold and religious we were taken in handShown how to feel good and told to feel badStrung out behind us the banners and flagsOf our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags Do you remember me? How we used to be?Do you think we should be closer?

When you're one of the few to land on your feetWhat do you do to make ends meet?(Teach) Make them mad, make them sadMake them add two and twoOr make them me, or make them youMake them do what you want them toMake 'em laugh, make 'em cryMake 'em lie down and die

It was just before dawn One miserable morning in black forty-fourWhen the Forward Commander was told to sit tightWhen he asked that his men be withdrawnAnd the Generals gave thanksAs the other ranksHeld back the enemy tanks for a whileAnd the Anzio Bridgehead was held for the priceOf a few hundred ordinary lives And kind old King GeorgeSent Mother a noteWhen he heard that Father was goneIt was, I recall, in the form of a scrollWith gold leaf and allAnd I found it one dayIn a drawer of old photographsHidden awayAnd my eyes still grow dampTo remember His MajestySigned with his own rubber stamp It was dark all aroundThere was frost in the groundWhen the tigers broke freeAnd no one survivedFrom the Royal Fusiliers Company CThey were all left behindMost of them deadThe rest of them dyingAnd that's how the High Command took my Daddy from me

Jesus, Jesus, what's it all about?Tryin' to clout these little ingrates into shapeWhen I was their age all the light went outThere was no time to whine or mope about And even now part of me flies over Dresden at angels one fiveThough they'll never fathom it behind mySarcasm desperate memories lie Sweetheart, sweetheart are you fast asleep? GoodThat's the only time that I can really speak to youAnd there's something that I've locked awayA memory that is too painful to withstand the light of day When we came back from the warThe banners and flags hung on everyone's doorWe danced and we sang in the streetsAnd the church bells ring But burning in my heartMy memory smolders onOf the gunner's dying wordsOn the intercom

Floating down through the cloudsMemories come rushing up to meet me nowBut in the space between the heavens and the corner of some foreign fieldI had a dream, I had a dream Goodbye Max, goodbye MaAfter the service when you're walking slowly to the carAnd the silver in her hair shines in the cold November airYou hear the tolling bellAnd touch the silk in your lapel And as the tear drops rise to meet the comfort of the bandYou take her frail handAnd hold on to the dream A place to stay ("Oi! A real one ...")Enough to eatSomewhere old heroes shuffle safely down the streetWhere you can speak out loudAbout your doubts and fearsAnd what's more, no one ever disappearsYou never hear their standard issue kicking in your door You can relax on both sides of the tracksAnd maniacs don't blow holes in bandsmen by remote controlAnd everyone has recourse to the lawAnd no one kills the children anymoreAnd no one kills the children anymore Night after nightGoing 'round and 'round my brainHis dream is driving me insane In the corner of some foreign fieldThe gunner sleeps tonightWhat's done is doneWe cannot just write off his final sceneTake heed of the dreamTake heed

Button your lip and don't let the shield slip((#Notes|1))Take a fresh grip on your bullet proof maskAnd if they try to break down your disguise with their questionsYou can hide hide hideBehind paranoid eyes You put on our brave face and slip over the road for a jarFixing your grin as you casually lean on the barLaughing too loud at the rest of the worldWith the boys in the crowdYou can hide hide hide((#Notes|2))Behind petrified eyes You believed in their stories of fame fortune and gloryNow you're lost in a haze of alcohol soft middle ageThe pie in the sky turned out to be miles too highAnd you hide hide hideBehind brown and mild eyes

"Oi...Get your filthy hands off my desert!""What 'e say?" Brezhnev took AfghanistanAnd Begin took BeirutGaltieri took the Union Jack And Maggie, over lunch one dayTook a cruiser with all handsApparently, to make him give it back

Take all your overgrown infants away somewhereAnd build them a home, a little place of their ownThe Fletcher Memorial Home for Incurable Tyrants and Kings And they can appear to themselves every dayOn closed circuit T.V.To make sure they're still realIt's the only connection they feel Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Reagan and HaigMr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher, and Paisly"Hello, Maggie!"Mr. Brezhnev and party,"Scusi, dov'è il bar?"The ghost of McCarthy and the memories of Nixon"Who's the bald chap?""Good-bye!"And now, adding colour, a group of anonymous Latin-American meat packing glitterati Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?They can polish their medals and sharpen their smilesAnd abuse themselves playing games for awhileBoom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eyeTheir favorite toyThey'll be good girls and boysIn the Fletcher Memorial Home for Colonial Wasters of Life and Limb Is everyone in?Are you having a nice time?"Sieg Heil!"Now the final solution can be applied

They disembarked in '45And no one spoke and no one smiledThere were too many spaces in the line Gathered at the cenotaphAll agreed with hand on heartTo sheath the sacrificial knifesSieg Heil! But now she stands upon Southampton dockWith her handkerchief and her summer frockClings to her wet body in the rain In quiet desperation Knuckles white upon the slippery reinsShe bravely waves the boys goodbye again Still the dark stain spreads between their shoulder bladesA mute reminder of the poppy fields and gravesWhen the fight was over we spent what they had madeBut in the bottom of our hearts we felt the final cut