They sallied forth in parallel lines
Their bleating dying in the midnight air
The escaping of men, marching in rigid time
From domestic chores to be there,

Falklands bound with the crowing
Of journalistic banter in their ears,
The armies at last released into warring
“Give ‘em a bloody nose and thick ear”

Smutty jokes and puking nervous boys
Given their orders as if holidaying in Spain,
The forces of politically directed toys
Entering the final bloody stage.

Reputations intact
Motivations react
The Falklands folly
Was a tale so sorry.
The architect was woman bound
Who only wanted her job returned.
Survivors and veterans in fact
The lonely widowed wives
Counting out time
Counting the lives
Cursing the Merry Warring song.