We'll remember when that wreath is just a crown of thorns to drape
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around your helmet - hide out anywhere at all. We'll remember when
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you're no more than a poem on a grave - a sideline for the guy who
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writes the birthday cards but never signs his name. He's got your
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number, feels your pain... though you're smiling from the mantel-piece
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and you've got your rifle trained. It's pointing at the T.V. Shall
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we tell you when to fire? There's a programme we all hate... it's not
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a late show so you won't be tired. We remember how you loved the war
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films, and hid behind the sofa throwing balls of silver paper. We
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remember. We remember. We've got our poppies on. We hear the clock
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chime out eleven. We remember, we remember it's Poppy Day. (You
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shall not grow old!)
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Poppy Day
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| The Legendary Pink Dots |
