Of Brass and Red Ribbon

What fresh new hell has opened so brightly?

Of lies and truth, the devil’s same old trick

Born dark old spirits, both Queen and country

Promises of glory sounding so slick!

We tried to fight brave and spread your false truth,

to lie down dead in such sweet, flowered grass.

Yet all you gave trade for my misspent youth,

Were three cold strips of red ribbon and brass.

A slip of the mind, a tear at the seam.

Old echoes of guns, their pipes and their drums.

Sweet mother wake me from this fever dream,

Before death’s hand, inevitably comes.

Battered and broken, both shattered and bruised

A life now over for fortune pursued…