Troubled

What did you do in the army daddy? Did you fight in a war? I’ve only seen a few pictures daddy, please tell me some more. I wore a scarlet tunic son, and a bearskin with plume of white. I guarded our Queen in London son, I made sure she slept safe at night. But did I fight in a war son? Politicians they’ll tell you no. But let me tell you the facts son, the truth, as it was, just so. I was sent to a beautiful country son, that’s known as the Emerald Isle. To the south of the north we young men went, to a place so choked full of bile. I walked the streets with a rifle son, the enemy hiding from view, behind hedgerows, in vans, those cowards hid, their mission, our lives to undo. They wouldn’t come out in the light lad, they’d only fire from the dark. Too timid to stand toe to toe son, they’d fire when we walked in their arc. But how do you define a war son? Is it bullets and bombs and death? Friends dying from enemy ambush son? If it is, then my answer is yes. Yes I fought in a war my boy. Though my government denies it all. They said we just had some troubles son, behind a split Irish wall. But didn’t they give you a medal daddy? I know this, because I have seen. All shiny and silver, the Queen’s on it, with a ribbon of purple and green. They did and it means the world son, of a time that I fought alongside real men. It recalls those honest true friendships son. the likes that I’ve ne’er found again. It reminds of those scum in the shadows son, who now play a part in the light. Elected to offices of power, yet they’ve never atoned or done right. It hurts when I think of those brave boys we lost, to see such MP’s standing tall. But for me they’ll never be men my boy, no values or morals at all. So yes I fought in a war son, no matter what governments say. I’d love them to pick up a rifle my lad, and be troubled, for just one day.