Look Mum, No Hands!

Business as usual starts with the sound

Of another damn funeral march through the town

One less for St Nicholas

There's nothing as vile

Or as sad or ridiculous

As the coffin of a child.



He flies through the air with the greatest of ease

That daring young man in the blue dungarees

Shot down by the G-force of a semtex surprise

He bucks like a seahorse, keels over and dies



With his eyes all dramatic, glazed and confused

The full metal jacket, trousers and shoes



CHORUS



And his poor, pathetic parents

So stricken with grief

That they spelled his name wrong on his funeral wreath

They're appealing for no vengeance

On behalf of their son

But they've already assembled

And planted the bomb



CHORUS



.....look mum, no hands!