I think you'll get the gist of this one:-



Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death
Roger McGough

Snipers

When I was kneehigh to a tabletop,
Uncle Tom came home from Burma.
He was the youngest of seven brothers
So the street borrowed extra bunting
And whitewashed him a welcome.

All the relations made the pilgrimage,
including us, laughed, sang, made a fuss.
He was brown as a chairleg,
Drank tea out of a white mug the size of my head,
and said next to nowt.

But every few minutes he would scan
The ceiling nervously, hands begin to shake,
For snipers, everyone later agreed,
A difficult habit to break.

Sometimes when the two of us were alone,
He'd have a snooze after dinner
and I'd keep an eye open for Japs.
Of course, he didn't know this
and the tenner he,d give me before I went
was for keeping quiet,
but I liked to think it was money well spent.

Being Uncle Tom's secret bodyguard
had it's advantages, the pay was good
and the hours were short, but even so
the novelty soon wore off, and instead,
I started school and became an infant.

Later, I learned that he was in a mental home.
Needn't tell anybody Nothing serious
Delayed shock Usual sort of thing
Completely cured now the doctors say
The snipers came down from the ceiling
but they didn't go away.

Over the next five years they picked off
three of his brothers; one of whom was my father.
No glory, no citations,
Bang! straight through the heart.

Uncle Tom's married now, with a family.
He doesn't say much, but each night after tea,
He still dozes fitfully in his favourite armchair.
He keeps out of the sun, and listens now and then
for the tramp tramp of the Colonel Bogeymen.
He knows damn well he's still at war,
Just that the sniper's aren't Japs anymore.

Roger McGough 1969