The Fletcher Memorial Home

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Take all your overgrown infants away, somewhere,

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And build them a home, a little place of their own.

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The Fletcher Memorial Home for incurable tyrants     and   kings.

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And they can appear to themselves every day,

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On closed circuit T.V. to make sure they're still real.

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It's the only connection they feel.


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"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Reagan and Haig,

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Mr. Begin and friend, Mrs. Thatcher and Paisley,

    Cmaj7
Mr. Brezhnev and party, the ghost of McCarthy,

                           D
The memories of Nixon. And now adding colour,

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A group of anonymous Latin-American meat packing glitterati."


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Did they expect us to treat them with any respect?

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They can polish their medals and sharpen their smiles,

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And amuse themselves playing games for a while.

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Boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead.


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Safe in the permanent gaze of a cold glass eye,

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With their favorite toys, they'll be good girls and boys.

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In   the Fletcher Memorial Home for colonial wasters of life and   limb.