Sorry - A Land Unfit for Heroes

I'm sorry to wake you, Grandad,
But I thought you ought to know
What has happened to the land
That made you it's hero

Sorry I didn't listen
To your tales told down the years
Of the living Hell you lived through,
the horror and the fears.

How you fought for my tomorrow,
So my children would be free
From tyranny and sorrow,
And never have to say .... 'sorry'.

But my children only really care
About the label on their coat.
They've figured out that life's not fair,
But, sorry .... They don't vote.

Whilst some children are starving,
And others live in pain,
The Government are carving
The sorry state for private gain.

They're killing off our NHS,
And hijacking our schools.
They rob us of our benefits
And divide us sorry fools.

The poor are set against the poor
'Cause the poor don't seem to matter.
Our sorry boys are sent to war,
Whilst the Eton pals grow fatter.

Sorry, they've closed the coal mines
And the factory gates are shut.
Sorry, they're tapping our phone lines
And kick us in the gut ......

.....if we dare complain about it,
Or we protest in the street.
Sorry, we don't shout about it
'Cause they'd knock us off our feet.

The Fascism you fought against
In the sorry, blood-stained dirt
Is marching all through tube trains
In your beloved Chelsea shirt ...

It's tramping down in hobnail boots,
It's poisoning our youth.
It's thriving at the ballot box ....
Sorry .... but that's the truth.

I'm sorry to say that 'national pride'
Hides the horrors that you saw.
I'm sorry to tell you that they lied
When they said it would end all war.

This land for heroes, you made fit
Is a sorry land of despair.
The old and poor are treated sh*t,
And no-one seems to care.

So, I'm sorry to wake you, Grandad.
I hope the nightmares now have ceased.
You're my hero still, for trying,
And I hope you rest in peace.