Ant Smith


The Saint

Heroes choose their hearts

Whilst cowards use their minds

The former soon depart

Leaving only fools left to rise

Idiocy's an ancient trick

Amongst the waring lunatics

We love the loveable idiot rogues

No one's to blame, I don't suppose

When heroes die we then pretend

To venerate our noblest men

But Scargill, Foot and Tony Ben

They only came and went again

While fools flock and multiply

Heroes fastly, fastly die

Reagan, Bush and Boris J

Then bumble on to save the day?

If such men proclaim the saint

Then my heart lies, still with the slain

For if dragons represent Old pagan governments

I'd rather number in the dead

Than feel your honours weigh on my head

Don't call me hero

Don't call me saint

Don't honour me with special days

Obsequious praise from such tongues

Tarnishes taints any good that was done

Don't call me hero Don't call me saint

Drink to my pieces and drink in my hate

Don't call me hero

Don't call me saint

Let me revolt in my numerous graves