Present Arms
Present Arms
…………da da da da da da da da
Da da da da da da da da,
You’re making like a train
With you and your friends,
Every first step slammed in
To take your mind off the pounding
In your chest, and the pain,
And it’s train tracks
All the way to barracks,
Where the Men sleep
Before another day of fatigues,
And the training matters,
Really hits home when you’re
Alive in combat zones where
The men you quibble with,
Become the very best,
Become the comrades you never
Knew existed.
It’s not an easy choice to become
An ambassador for your country,
When wearing uniforms is not
The will of many in civilian street
Where plenty snide behind your back
And it’s not for love of money or
To quicken another’s life,
Still, you do it as a contribution
And to escape the digging in of
Habitats of conformity,
And it’s sad in many ways that
The only way you’re alive could be
Your actual death,
But the inner city,
The inner cities present
Only the whimsical of who
You really are, who you could be
And the places that you wish to see
Are not ‘their’ understanding.
But it’s a sacrifice, where the heart
Touched by fields of refugees can
Never seem to heal,
Never find its peace when you
Return from quartered lands of conflict,
And some hate with vengeance the arrogance
You’ve become, and some can never understand
The violence of your ‘feral mind’
But living amongst the flies
The snakes the rats the insects
Can never be as artistic as
Urban sprawls of concrete with
Graffiti,
soon come when time to leave
you’ll beg to be back amongst the gun!
You have escaped but the cost
Has been too dear,
You’ve sacrificed your heart
You’ve sacrificed your family,
You’ve lost the loved ones
You once screamed love
To return to,
And on leaving the position
Of a soldier, you’ve left many men
To die, die within yourself the memories
Of pride that you served in faith
Alongside the finest countrymen
Of honour, and it’s a one way ticket
To a chin now dropping south bound
As you sleep amongst the high rise
Kissing the concrete
Not knowing where or who you are,
And as Ladysmith sings its song
You’re recognised as homeless in your eyes,
And ‘they’ will never understand
And say, he needs a pegging down.
You served your country
And gave your finest fruitful years
Of youth to the policies of your Queen,
You watched your comrades die
And carried one or two,
Still you find yourself – a tramp,
A trampled put upon man
They seem to love to stick the bayonet in
With glee for your – self-belief they
Couldn’t wait to take away,
Couldn’t wait to watch you fall
And this is the country you served,
These are those in whose honour
You gave away your life,
And as you walk the streets and beg
Your food and money
You wished you’d stayed the
The combat zone as casualty or victim,
For no honour be there now
Within a society of clowns who
Drug each other up for fun.
And if you had just that one round,
The Nine Milimetre to hasten
Velocity and sound,
It might just go straight to your head,
As you wish upon the concrete floor
The understanding of a man within his
Death throe,
Because they’ll never understand
The torture you endure,
Yet,
Upon a soldiers mind
Is a glance upon the times
Gone by,
Where each a casualty - already
Were the best,
And in knowing you I know
You not to be a trampled put upon man,
For as a man I served with you
And glad for knowing you as friend,
And here’s my hand,
Here’s my arm and shoulder for
Your friendship, and here’s
The ticket to the train to freedom,
Where the countryside,
The cottage and the mountains,
Your family – your children,
Await your presence with their love,
And never ‘you’ look down upon the man
Who takes the kicking for his service,
Never scan your eyes upon those whose
Reactions you’ll never understand,
Turn your head away from the Gold you
Left to rot,
For you’ll never be his worth,
You’ll never be the Man inside I
Know himself to be,
Because your ignorance
Of really being human is your monster;-
Not soldier; nor - this trampled man,
Who will always, be a hero!
Michael J Waite 26th December 2011.
