| Like a Fascist soldier you’d rise,
Decked in black, with bundles of sticks
That you’d struggle to keep. You’d often reprise:
“Springtime Youth will not be eclipsed.”
You vouched for them and raised
Your right arm high in salute,
Now you down gin and mock the depraved,
But speak of the time of your good repute.
I won’t forget when I joined the Reds,
In anger you refused to pass the cup;
So I went to fight with bombs and lead,
Until I was sick and had had enough.
So regale me now with your African tales
And from your cross I’ll help remove the nails.