Take all your overgrown infants
Away somewhere and build them a home,
A little place of their own
The Fletcher Memorial Home
For Incurable Tyrants and Kings.

And they can appear to themselves
Every day on closed circuit T.V.
To make sure they're still real.
It's the only connection they feel.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome
Reagan and Haig, Mr. Begin and friends,
Mrs. Thatcher and Paisley, Mr. Brezhnev and party,
The ghost of McCarthy, the memories of Nixon,
And now adding colour,
a group of anonymous Latin American
Meat packing glitterati"

Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?

They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles
And amuse themselves playing games for a while
Boom boom!!!
Bang bang!!!
Lie down you're dead.

Safe in the permanent gaze
Of a cold glass eye.
With their favourite toys
They'll be good girls and boys.

In the Fletcher Memorial Home
For Colonial Wasters of Life and Limb.
Is everyone in?
Are you having a nice time?
Now the final solution can be applied.

See also:
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