His father was an Aristocrat
His mother a high class whore
And he attended Public School
As had his ancestors before,
Achieved a First at Oxbridge,
Sword of Honour at Sandhurst,
Served in Bosnian with UNFOR
Saw genocide at its very worst.
He resigned his commission
Following his service there
Couldn’t cope with the memories
The sense of guilt and despair.
He dosses on the Streets now
A homeless hulk without a name
Disowned by his family and
Just seen as a bringer of shame.
The people on the streets
Try to avoid his eye,
Toss him the odd coin
As they pass him by.
He nods his head in gratitude
But he’s not really there
As he copes with his demons
Behind his thousand yards stare.
All people see is a vagrant,
An alcoholic and a souse.
He’s in Line for the title and
A seat in the Upper House.
Nobody gives a toss about
The many cases like him.
That’s just the modern world
You either sink or swim.
Come and join the forces
Show that you are willing
To go and serve your country
Accept the Old Queen’s Shilling.
Learn to fight and kill
Sell your service on the cheap
And if you crack and break
You’re out on the scrap heap.
Categories:
dosses, angst, soldier, war,
Form: Rhyme