Hello Joe, I'm married to Jim
I'm sure that you remember him
I know it's been a lot of years
I'm sure there's been a lot of tears
I'd like to help, to reconcile
So think about it for a while
I am a soldier, you were too
We both did what we had to do
And we both know war takes a toll
It leaves a black mark on your soul
No matter what you try to do
It makes it hard to be with you
Whiskey just won't chase away
The ghosts that haunt you every day
Before you know just what you've done
You lost your wife and lost your son
The damage done you can't undo
And I'm sure that's not lost on you
Your son's a man and he's so fine
I'm very proud to call him mine
I know it's more than 20 years
You may be rightly full of fears
I hear his childhood wasn't great
A violent time and full of hate
In Germany, the cold war chill
And home grown trauma left him ill
Back to Suffolk, civvy street
Life still violent, not too sweet
But Jim grew into quite a guy
His childhood makes me wonder why
He overcame as time flew by
It's not the beatings that you gave
That helped him learn to be so brave
Your son's a pilgrim brave and true
Despite and not because of you
But now I've found you, Happy Day
So what you got to say?

Body broken from military service
Comrades gone or dead
Cast adrift in civvy street
I believed their lies. They said
They would take care of me
If service took its toll
They said there would be help for me
If nightmares sacked my soul
Instead I'm turned from door to door
My country has betrayed me
Now I'm used up, no longer fit
Youth gone to keep you free
You treat me like a burden
An encumbrance you don't need
Helpless anger bubbles
As I cut until I bleed
Anger turning inwards
As there's nothing I can do
Dulce et Decorum Est?
Is that really true?
Or is it simply if you live
A veteran you'll be
Outlived your use
A shattered wreck
Is all that they will see
The great and good
Who never served
Not even for one day
Huge great poppies they will wear
And stand and seem to pray
Yet turn their face away from you
A figure of disdain
Would be much more convenient
If you had been slain
Your country doesn't want you
Now you've served your use
They told such lies and you bought in
And now they cut you lose
So don't expect their help
And don't believe the lie
Your country only wanted you to
Do and then to die

****** dropped bombs on him
It was nothing personal
There was just a war on
He came under the heading of enemy
Blew the ****** front door in
His mum got shot at by a Messerschmitt
In the middle of the street
So he had to do the shopping after
Its dangerous out there send the kid

Served his country in the Royal Fusiliers
Made it to sergeant teaching squaddies
How to read and do their sums
Posted to Germany as army of occupation
Did his bit as the saying goes
Then back on civvy street worked in the city
Steam train took him every day
From the market town where I was born
To smoke and smog and daily grind

Now I am teaching him the iPhone 6
At eighty seven he’s doing great
From a socially acceptable distance
Of course so we can keep in touch
Face to face and he won’t miss us
Now by himself rattling around
The big old house where I grew up
How times have changed
Still he should be used to queuing up

i like that phrase, which invites that rare curiosity
of believing in journalistic integrity,
which... is a belief surmounting a belief
in god...
                     and that's ******* rare...
the phrase?

            an investigation by this newspaper
found...

      oh lucky me ****** up look me here...
they're onto it again!
   they're actually working the *******
mill!      they're making flour...
into us dumb-folk dough!
marvelous!

1,335 suicides among the 21,432
veterans...
                     yeah...
the civvy street affair... (civilian)...
so here i am, wondering why
i sometimes cry when hearing the soundtrack
to Mel Gibson's the Passion movie...
or Vaughan Williams' -
Phantasia, theme Thomas Tallis...
or Black Sabbath's song solitude...

honestly?
no man deserves to make a punching bag
a worthy outlet...
   heart... heart...
           an honest outlet of lament
on the altar of beauty will suffice...
that's all it takes...

i find that becoming... since i'm now
laughing at the political articles
in the newspaper...
a second referendum *******...
i mean... you have to be ******* me...
it's like a king piece in the hands of a pawn...
funny, eh? Helen of Troy...
Elizabeth I,
                           the king is just
an elevated pawn in the game...
but the queen is everything...
  bishop, knight, rook...
                funny, isn't it?

who begot the all the wars of our time?
while little jimmy is off in
the trenches, big fat **** Alfonso
is ******* the "sacred ******"...
please...
                                 to an extent...
other that the current in situ of
the Syrian crisis...

                it's like that Hellraiser hellbound
quote... please, feel free, explore...
the labyrinth of a man's heart...
yeah... mind the heart, forget the stomach,
i'm pretty sure i can cook a meal
for myself...

  the element of a pulverizing rage,
disorientated...
        happy? happy?!
who the **** needs happy these days?
happy does not feed you energy...
but anger sure as **** does -
and i mean disorientated anger,
imploding,
                inhibited...
                a cancerous growth of
momentum.