Military Air

In the mist of the slaughter, it’s justice that suffers;

In the bright face of Justice we waggled vague fingers.

Judgments were issued by hopeless old buffers

Who looked in their wigs like old cabaret singers

(They’re all long dead now, but the melody lingers).

I stood up in court and spilled the beans blithely.

The men had abandoned their horses, oh blimey!
I mentioned by name Corporals Stutely and Hytheleigh,

(Hytheleigh was British—the slang term is “Limey”)

And I let the court know that young Stutely was slimy.

 “You’ll look back on these days as on splendour and magic,”

Said General Hooter (his message in Morse);

That day he was slaughtered—his death was not tragic

(Time healeth no ills and can’t act without force);

He trod on a land-mine, and so did his horse.