Adrian Mitchell
To Whom It May Concern
I was run over by the truth one day.
Ever since the accident I've walked this way
So stick my legs in plaster
Tell me lies about Vietnam.
Heard the alarm clock screaming with pain,
Couldn't find myself so I went back to sleep again
So fill my ears with silver
Stick my legs in plaster
Tell me lies about Vietnam.
Every time I shut my eyes all I see is flames
Made a marble phone book and I carved all the names
So coat my eyes with butter
Fill my ears with silver
Stick my legs in plaster
Tell me lies about Vietnam.
I smell something burning, hope it's just my brains.
They're only dropping peppermints and daisy-chains
So stuff my nose with garlic
Coat my eyes with butter
Fill my ears with silver
Stick my legs in plaster
Tell me lies about Vietnam.
Where were you at the time of the crime?
Down by the Cenotaph* drinking slime
So chain my tongue with whisky
Stuff my nose with garlic
Coat my eyes with butter
Fill my ears with silver
Stick my legs in plaster
Tell me lies about Vietnam.
You put your bombers in, you put your conscience out,
You take the human being and you twist it all about
So scrub my skin with women,
Chain my tongue with whisky
Stuff my nose with garlic
Coat my eyes with butter
Fill my ears with silver
Stick my legs in plaster
Tell me lies about Vietnam.
*Cenotaph - war memorial in London
First read out in Trafalgar Square in 1964. Read again Saturday 13 October 2001 at the Anti-War demonstration in London .
"It is about Vietnam , But it is still relevant. It's about sitting faithfully in England while thousands of miles away terrible atrocities are being committed in our name.''
How To Kill Cuba
You must burn the people first.
Then the grass and trees, then the stones.
You must cut the island out of all the maps,
The history books, out of the old newspapers,
Even the newspapers which hated Cuba,
And burn all these, and burn
The paintings, poems and photographs and films
And when you have burnt all these
You must bury the ashes
You must guard the grave
And even then
Cuba will only be dead like Che Guevara
Technically dead, that's all,
Technically dead.
Would You Mind Signing This Receipt
When you get back home
You will find a black patch on the ground,
A patch of blackness shaped like a house
Where your house used to stand.
It was a mistake.
It was the wrong house.
It was all a mistake
Based on faulty information.
When you get back home
You will find three black heaps on the ground.
Three black heaps shaped like children
On the patch of blackness shaped like a house
Where your house used to stand.
It was a mistake.
They were the wrong people.
It was all a mistake
Based on faulty information.
Three children.
51 dollars compensation per child.
That comes to 153 dollars, madam.
Flag Day - But Not For The Revolution
Hunger scrapes the inside out of the human belly.
Your charity small change clanks into the tin
And makes no real change.
They are not slot machines for your spare pennies
Although you can read your own gross weight
Scrawled across their faces.
The razors of hunger slash and slash and slash their skin
And all your fat pity helps no one but yourself.
Thank you to Comrade Roland Rance for writing and sending these Poems .
