We Are The Walking Wounded Poem by Josephine Dunn

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

Mods and rockers
Hippies and punks,
Skinheads and townies,
None of us monks,
Druggies and dropouts,
Sinners and saints,
All with our habits
That leave a taint,
Some of us addicts
Some of us drunks.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

We danced at all-nighters
To Northern soul
Wore our black leather
To rock'n'roll
Tie dyed our T-shirts
Put pins in our ears
Tattooed our fists
Wore Ben Sherman gear.
The acid generation
Of the psychedelic years.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

All of us older
And ravaged by time,
With memorable moments
That bring back smiles.
Double vented suits
And paisley ties,
The invitation of
Come-to-bed eyes,
A beautiful voice
Untouched by years
That soothes away troubles
Brought on by fear.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

We are fatter and thinner
And balder and grey
All of us broken
In different ways
The glitter and glam
Have gone from our lives
The lights may have dimmed
But we still survive.
We are old and forgetful
Wrinkled and weary
Slower and stiffer but
Let's not get dreary.
Our dancing shoes
May be packed away,
But we dream of wearing
Them again one day.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.


We're planning one more
Epic trip
With the help of a sugar cube
Not an IV drip
No ground floor duplex
Or retirement cruise
We are still groovy
We have nothing to lose
We will drink and we'll party
And still have our say
In how we are treated
Before we call it a day.


We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.





We Are The Walking Wounded

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

Mods and rockers
Hippies and punks,
Skinheads and townies,
None of us monks,
Druggies and dropouts,
Sinners and saints,
All with our habits
That leave a taint,
Some of us addicts
Some of us drunks.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

We danced at all-nighters
To Northern soul
Wore our black leather
To rock'n'roll
Tie dyed our T-shirts
Put pins in our ears
Tattooed our fists
Wore Ben Sherman gear.
The acid generation
Of the psychedelic years.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

All of us older
And ravaged by time,
With memorable moments
That bring back smiles.
Double vented suits
And paisley ties,
The invitation of
Come-to-bed eyes,
A beautiful voice
Untouched by years
That soothes away troubles
Brought on by fear.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.

We are fatter and thinner
And balder and grey
All of us broken
In different ways
The glitter and glam
Have gone from our lives
The lights may have dimmed
But we still survive.
We are old and forgetful
Wrinkled and weary
Slower and stiffer but
Let's not get dreary.
Our dancing shoes
May be packed away,
But we dream of wearing
Them again one day.

We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.


We're planning one more
Epic trip
With the help of a sugar cube
Not an IV drip
No ground floor duplex
Or retirement cruise
We are still groovy
We have nothing to lose
We will drink and we'll party
And still have our say
In how we are treated
Before we call it a day.


We are the walking wounded
The post war babes
We are the survivors
Not gone to our graves.