The Government Standard

 

 

     The band didn’t want to play,

They didn’t want to march

Through streets paved with

Gum and fag butts and poverty,

     They didn’t want for glancing

At bloodstains from a

Previous night’s brawl,

They didn’t want for none of it

At all,

 

     But as soon as the note

Struck, they knew their place,

Knew of nothing else

That a Northern town could want,

So they marched

With broken back

And broken nose,

And kept their tears close,

(none letting on to Whitehall,

Each hurt they endured),

 

     Broken backs and broken

Nose, broken bones

From broken homes,

Broken children

Forever young,

Never knowing

To the fullest -

How maturity grows,

 

     A major of drums

And miner at sea,

Swallows the tide

As it climbs further than he,

     And he’s feeding his children

The dreams of the past,

Knowing full well

Nothing but lies and deceit

Are to last,

 

      Deep within,

Deep down in the recesses of mind,

They’re imprisoned inside,

Staying in time forever

Five years of age,

     Having taken the belt

And the buckle – and all -

Government hand-outs,

They’re living extremes of

Close to the knuckle,

     And five is all they’ll be

In their lives,

     Where arrested

Development from teachers

At play; makes retards of all

For being born -

Northern and poor,

 

     The band - play on,

Carrying their memories

Like elephants of old,

And the trombone and

Horn and bugle

And drum,

     Beat a rhythm

And melody that poverty knows,

And they played it before

A hundred years ago,

And unfurling their flags

As the kids stand in rags;

     They’re crying

The tears;-

Of a five - year old.

 

Michael J Waite 18th May 2014.