My British beauty
Practically perfect,
Positively poised,
Delicate but strong,
Gentle but fierce.
My British beauty,
When they spat in your face
And told you no,
You told them not,
But showed them what you could.
My British beauty,
Sculpted a family with her bare hands
Took from herself to give to us,
Molding and changing with time
Time is cruel.
Time takes everything you have- and then some.
My British beauty,
When they took your brain,
Your memory and life
You fought to hold on
I wanted you to hold on.
Please just hold on.
My British beauty,
Becausy first it was times and dates,
But now you can’t recognize my face.
My British beauty,
I know you’re hurting
But he is hurting too
You are a prisoner in your own mind
And he can not find the key
My British beauty,
He could not save you,
Not from this,
You left and so did a part of him.
My British beauty,
When he tells me not to fall in love,
That the pain of loss is too much,
My British beauty
I remind him of what you left,
family,
Because it is not what you lost, it’s what is left to love,
My British beauty,
No matter where you go,
On Earth or the heavens above.
My British beauty,
You will always be home.

He shakes his head
and tries to clear his mind.
Getting worried in the moment,
'I'm sure i was feeling fine'.

Perception becomes twisted,
Truth becomes lies.
Paranoia is knocking,
He's broken all logical ties.

He checks behind
to see who follows.
A chill down the spine,
inside he's  hollow.

Sense is hard to find.
This fire started from a spark.
The pressure inside his mind,
Stretching and tearing the world apart.

Mania.
Depression.
They all leave impressions.

Pcsyhotic,
Traumatic.
'No need to be dramatic'.

They don't know.
They never will.
They think its a lie.
'I was sure i was feeling fine'.

She lived with her husband in a Manchester suburb
toiling to keep their kid's bellies filled
oblivious to the horrors yet to be lived
"The war to end all wars" and millions killed

From a thread-bare working class
with poorly paid work and a struggle to get by
her future was stolen in August 1914
she didn't have the vote for her husband to die

Tommy and his pals signed up for glory
marching and grinning but gripped by fear
she waved them off with her heart so heavy
as posters warned the Germans would be here

Tommy returned from the front to nurse his wounds
gone was his smile, his whistle in the morn
a haunted look, he couldn't say what he'd seen
she felt sad and lonely, bereft and forlorn

Supporting her husband throughout his trauma
much work to do and mouths to feed
2 years now into this epic madness
more brave cannon fodder was the nation's need

They recalled Tommy for a battle at the Somme
his mental wounds hidden, he stood at the door
she kissed him as he left to meet his maker
she sighed, then cried and collapsed to the floor

On a warm July morning he was sent to his death
cut down in his prime in no man's land
another pointless, tragic waste of a life
most now saw this "Great War" wasn't so grand

She opened the letter bearing the news
they regretted her loss and said they were pained
passed to her loved ones and back again
barely readable now it was so tear-stained

2 months passed and she read some news
they were showing a film at her local cinema
the carnage at the Somme could now be viewed
some family and friends went to see it with her

She saw a body being carried in the trenches
the face of the dead man was screened
that face was Tommy's, she leapt to her feet
"That's him! That's my Tommy!", she screamed

She was led back home to her children
her pain and anguish she could now release
seeing Tommy one last time gave her closure
his face had looked content and finally at peace

You'll eat meat
And love a bacon sarnie
When you're ******
You'll smash a biryani
But when it comes to
Chopped pork, rinds and ham
No one wants to eat spam

In the Great War
We survived on rations
And beat zee Germans
With ******* passion
The lads didn't complain
About what they had to eat
Whether it was a le carte
Or mashed-up meat
But these days
That's not your jam
And no one wants to eat spam

It's great in a fry up
And ******* lovely in a butty
Get the kettle on
And get comfy
And enjoy
A cup of ******* tea
And eat your spam
Perfect with ketchup or HP
And don't complain
That it ain't real meat
Just get it in your gob
And enjoy this tasty treat

But most of you
Are to blame
And like the majority
Don't think it's the same
You're into avocados
Poached eggs and all that
And can't stand the thought
Of a chopped pig in a can
When you were young
You should've listened to your nan
Now it's a ******* shame
No one wants to eat spam