We'll remember when that wreath is just a crown of thorns to drape
Around your helmet - hide out anywhere at all We'll remember when
You're no more than a poem on a grave - a sideline for the guy who
Writes the birthday cards but never signs his name He's got your
Number, feels your pain though you're smiling from the mantel-piece
And you've got your rifle trained It's pointing at the TV Shall
We tell you when to fire? There's a programme we all hate it's not
A late show so you won't be tired We remember how you loved the war
Films, and hid behind the sofa throwing balls of silver paper We
Remember We remember We've got our poppies on We hear the clock
Chime out eleven We remember, we remember it's Poppy Day (You
Shall not grow old!)