Is this He??http://dave-hazell-blog-poems.blogspot.com/
..Yarse! I was that soldier.
Love the vid cropready. I was once mistaken for David Essex, actually; so I went along with it. Plunkett, still thinks it was Essex, who tried to nick his wallet.
There was a moaning bastard,
He wasn’t very nice.
And everybody said he had
An heart as cold as ice.
Next to him Bill Sykes, was charming,
And Scrooge, was profligate.
So the Gods conspired to visit him
With a,.. most awful fate.
As he walked one winter solstice
Upon a frozen moor
A missile sent from otherworld
Knocked him to the floor
Yes, as he did tramp and grunt and groan,
And curse and cough and fart.
An arrow of the Shining Ones
Struck his manky heart.
"Rejoice! Rejoice!" The Faerie cried.
"Rejoice and have no pity,
For now the land is cleans-ed
Of something really shitty!”
But deep below the frozen moor
In warm and foetid barrows.
Dwelt those who scorned the Faerie ones,
And did not fear their arrows.
Where secretly was worshipp-ed.
The greatest ever poet,
That picked his nose on Sundays,
And called the King, “a Scroat!”
Where monstrous slimy crawling things
Would alter temporal fates.
To confound the plans of Faerie folk,
Who fucked about their mates.
A shiny spinning silver worm
Woven, with Druid dark art,
Was sent to turn the Faerie shaft
From the poet’s black heart.
On Mithras Eve, he rose again
And soon was on his way,
And the moors were filled with birdsong,
On a joyful Christmas day.
“His dropping meant no shopping”
Sang the Moorhen, Gulls, and Pheasants
“The lengths some swine will go to
So’s they can’t buy Christmas presents.”
I shall return.