Ballad of a Ragged Idiot

                                        As I walk the streets, I shuffle along

                                         Whistling a tune, singing a song

                              The hole in my trouser seat lets in the breeze

                       And my well darned socks are pulled up to my knees

                             The Sun shines down like gold coins on my face

                                And the wind blows my hair all over the place

                              Not that I have much, time has withered it away

                        So my bald patch shines brightly on a hot sunny day

                My battered old boots have seen many a day, in and out

               With holes in the soles the water comes in and pours out

                                      But I trundle around, without a care

                             Doing odd jobs to earn a bob here and there

                            I sleep soundly at night lying under the stars

                              No drinking for me, no nightclubs or bars

                 With the Moon as my light bulb my bedrooms always lit

                           So I mostly sleep soundly, only snoring a bit

             In the morning it’s a scrounge round for something to eat

                   Then I find a nice park bench; sit my bum on a seat

                   Good Morning, good morning I say as people pass by

      Returned occasionally by an offensive remark, that I just let lie

It’s a long way from the trenches in the fields of Verdun long ago

        Where I fought years earlier with my comrades in tow

       Amongst the bullets and the blood crawling low across fields

                              To fight a war in which neither side yields

                         The mortars drop constantly, the bullets whiz by

                           As my comrades drop regularly, sadly to die

                        How long will this last we tend to ask each other

                        Will I ever return home to my wife and my mother

                                Sadly, many didn’t make it, back home at all

          Lost their lives in the melee, their time ends where they fall

                           The Poppy Fields in France their last resting place

          A symbol of their courage of the mountain they had to face

                               I was one of the lucky ones – I made it back

                   But the problem never ended, my outlook was black

                              Unable to fit in where I used to be in life

                              Failing to deal with the trouble and strife

Because of what I had seen and been through, always on my mind

               Now I just wander the road sleeping where I can find

 Somewhere suitable, anywhere I can leave my bad memories behind

                          Just a mere resemblance of my long ago man

                Now a shadow in the wilderness with a dull outdoor tan 

          But the Poppies remind me of that time all those years past

Of the fallen friends and comrades that I lost in every bomb blast

          The blood and the screams hard to erase from one’s mind

                                 All these years later, hard to leave behind

               But in my raggedy arse trousers and shoes full of holes

                                 I still have a life, how good know one knows

                  But with the Sun and the Moon the Wind and the Rain

                                I will walk with a smile and enjoy life again