Call The Cavalry Poem by Mad Gone

Call the cavalry, the men, the country folk,
Be the brunt of all their stupid jokes,
Stand tall, be ready for the almighty fall.
while you guard, and answer your god forsaken call.
Who’s numbers up, the newsmen say,
please don’t let it be wee Bill, we pray.
Can’t shift this bloody target from our backs,
Shove your feelings in those heavy laden packs.

Standing in the pouring rain, the good old lady,
pins the Judas gold upon the breast,
of those no longer considered loyal guests.
Rain drops, drips, to hide our the tears,
as we stand and shiver in our fears.
Wee Bill is quietly looking on,
wondering where had all the trouble gone?
While those who stand, lingering players of the con.

Weeping, grey and forlorn sky,
Subdued and asking, hushed question, why?
Congratulated for being silent in the chamber,
trepidation should one choose to remember.
Grit upon the overgrown tarmac track,
cannon fodder, now recruited for Iraq.
Band of brothers, no ancestral ties,
listened astutely to their proverbial lies.

A wish to stand upon Stormont hill,
to scream, I am the enemy you killed.
Chuckle with me, as the mask wears thin,
and the preacher no longer preaches sin.
Fathers, ministers, good Christian leaders,
Don your glasses, become enlightened avid readers.
Let worn out drums, beat their silly tunes,
for they are but play things for baboons.