We build statues
To men who never
Risked their lives
But sent other men to war
We write their names
In history books
In gold leaf
Praise galore.
Those who perished
Names on a plaque
Polished once a year
When the so called
Civic dignatories
Step outside the door.
Theres no mention
Of the madness
Some still suffer
To this day
The mud the death
The lice and disease
Shrapnel wounds
Or bodies in decay.
After the ceremony
November fades
Just memories
Now long ago
But the pigeon shit
In remembrance lands
Upon those statues
Every day.