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Beau
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Kill the Idea
The tumbrils had taken the charnel house bones
Over mountains of carefully pulverised stones.
We'd pounded the valley, then as we'd been trained
We went out in search of whatever remained.
The orders were simple; to sound the 'All Clear'
When we knew beyond doubt we had killed The Idea.
At the end of what had been a glorious day,
With everything hidden in dust and decay,
We sent back the message they wanted to hear;
'The Idea has vanished, now break out the beer!'
The valley was ringing with liberty bells,
Remodelled by all our artillery shells.
It was just as we thought of returning to base,
That something descended from somewhere in space.
We couldn't believe it, so quickly we checked
For possible traces of after effect.
It was duly noted, but then was consigned
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As a Notion that nobody ever could mind.
Then we headed for home as the light slipped away,
But something important had happened that day.
The Notion persisted, then started to drift
Into different shapes that were harder to shift.
Oh, it's true that we all felt a moment of fear
Of the Sentiment seeming so chillingly clear.
So we came into camp feeling tired and drained,
Back from the valley where ordnance rained;
Back from the dust and the smoke and the grief,
Back with a new and compelling belief.
We raised up our glasses – the toasts were sincere;
'To The Mission';
'To Freedom';
'To Kill The Idea!'
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