I Don't Know What

I don't know what sort of a bloke I am or to what country I belong
For with the land I was born and raised in my bond it doesn't even seem strong
And here in this vast land I live in a migrant till death I will be
You boast of the flag of your country but flags not important to me.

You boast of how that flag it was carried by young men who marched off to war
So few of them returned to their families for to die they had to travel far
From the towns that they loved and grew up in and where they left for war as teenage boys
They believed they were fighting for freedom I wonder who told them such lies?

As a young man I was not a soldier they have a name for that 'gun shy'
And I am one who lack in conviction for god or country I'd not die
I don't believe that there is a god out there and if there is from mankind he is remote
But these are the words of a doggerelist who never will become a poet.

I don't know what sort of a character I am with my opinions not many agree
Each time that I look in a mirror an old man is all I can see
An old man as gray as a badger who has known a far better day
There's far more to life many will tell you than living to grow old and gray.

When you tell me about patriotism believe me I don't wish to hear
One reason perhaps I've lived so long is of death I have a morbid fear
And you firmly believe in heaven and you firmly believe in hell
And I only live for tomorrow for to pen one more doggerel.