When Margaret Was Eleven

My father said farewell and the band played tunes of glory

A giant man with ribbons, bedeviled dignity

A regimental sergeant, the backbone of the Empire

For God and righteous glory bound for High Germany

Sweet Lord, I was just seven when Margaret was eleven

They served us war for breakfast and soldiers' songs for tea

"Your father's gone campaigning" was a way of not explaining

That soldiers are the living proof of our inhumanity

My childhood passed away midst the tales and lurid stories

Of manufactured glories and inhuman gallantry

I asked, "When is war over?", but no one deemed to answer me

And Margaret played that dreaded tune called High Germany

Sweet Lord, I was just seven when Margaret was eleven

They served us war for breakfast and soldiers' songs for tea

"Your father's gone campaigning" was a way of not explaining

That soldiers are the living proof of our inhumanity

My father made it home, but he came without his reason

Two eyes of molten madness, a senseless fool of war

"He's just a child," my mother cried, "to be dressed in full regalia

And paraded as a hero home from High Germany"

Sweet Lord, I was just seven when Margaret was eleven

They served us war for breakfast and soldiers' songs for tea

"Your father's gone campaigning" was a way of not explaining

That soldiers are the living proof of our inhumanity

There'll be no tunes of glory for Margaret and me