Thanks But No Thanks

Bartholomew Barton; his friends called him Barty Eighteen years old but no birthday party Slumped in the mud, a gunshot to the shoulder But unlike his comrades at least he’d get older Tyrannical forces sought world domination And Barty had marched with his mates for his nation They gave him some medals for some of his actions They don’t stop him flinching at noisy distractions Those heroic deeds he did when he was able His medals he'd sold to put food on the table Brought him a pension that won’t pay the rent With callers demanding the money they’d lent One day the council demanded his key And food graced his table now infrequently But ‘table’ is merely an old cardboard box And food is a bin-find he shares with a fox He could do a D-Day and steal a small boat And hit a Kent beach in his moth-eaten coat But the taxes he’s paid since his battlefield hell Do not seem to warrant a four star hotel So thanks for your effort Bartholomew Barton It’s qualified you for a pine veneer carton You gave us your all to give us our today Then too many governments turned you away The question is now would you do it again As you sleep under cardboard in torrential rain For fighting a war for a brighter new day Should not mean that home is a dank alleyway