How Long How long do we have left before the sirens started wailing, And our own countries start failing. Is it much longer till the bombs fall and kill all, And the high in power just want more and more. When will the buildings crumble, And the crippled back bone of economies finally tumbles. The thunder is coming over the seas, How long now before we must beg on our knees.

What Is It With The Sad We all have the times of down and disaster, That can't be fixed with a simple plaster, Why is it thought that we let these dark thoughts linger, Let them spiral in to there own twisted gloom that toils like thread round a finger. Let's leave the past and the dum bad things behind, And have a mug of tea instead of a solemn glass of wine, Why should we recall and describe the killers and heart crushing demons, These monsters had their time don't let our hatred deepen, Let's tell the world no what has already been told, But smile at a fresh new happiness and not the dark fermenting old.

Walls If there's a wall I always find the best way past it is to blow it up.

War I have no time for war and its cold heated play, For the blood on his hands at the end of the day, Why should the innocence of man have to wipe his slate clean, When he kills us like resting mocking birds under a tree. I have no pity for war, Not now and not then, War he deserves no sympathy, From the ghosts that haunt his pending head. He isn't fit to eat at ones table, Or to rest on ones bed, Let war shrivel up with hunger and die on stone instead. Although it's a sin war stands the testament of time, Cursing man one by one, Its hunger nether quench alas it never runs dry. The plague that we call war he cant be detested by I.

The Coming Of Spring Sometimes I wonder on a cold February day, Will spring come? Although the notion is daft and the idea impossible, I still wonder... Will the frosty mornings come, With the jewelled grass being hit by the still cold sun, Will the the trees dress up in the night, For a one off end winter show, Will the young lambs leap from there mother, And dance upon this lush world. Or will the dark cold stone of winter stay. Will bluebells blossom, With snowdrops holding them side by side, Will the farmer turn the harden soil, And wake it up from winters with vigorous toil, Will the light blue sky pierce, Through the wight froth of clouds. Or will the dark cold stone of winter stay. The fog vale of winter does not linger, Longer than it should but still I always wonder, Will spring come?