| Our lady on the wall selling poppies for Our Boys. |
| Our price. |
| Our choice
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| We bought one-watched Our Lady fly confetti fly the city die in flames as
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| Tanks spat amber at the Odeon. |
| A soldier on the podium. |
| One leg, a face
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| That’s splashed with egg… a roadmap stained by cherry brandy, cracking
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| Jokes about The Jerry. |
| And we snatched his helmet, pissed and blew our
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| Whistles with the steam. |
| The kettle boiling, so we stamped and screamed for
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| China tea. |
| We’re playing Shanghai in the cloisters, sucking oysters, dipping
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| Fingers, finding pearls the size of avacado pears. |
| The treasure’s there — a
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| Shame there’s nowhere left to spend it… Shall we share the powdered milk
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| And wait for God? |