Younger Moralists

Here in the comfort of a favorite chair
Or smugly from the tap room at the Whitehorse
I can prove mathematically
Just when and when not to take up arms
When to fight and when to surrender
(Chorus)
This way or that way or this way or that way
Bang on the dustbin lids here come the Brits
An empire of vampires we’re sitting in our armchairs
Nothing has changed we’re just younger moralists
Easy enough to turn the other cheek
When you don’t get slapped around
When cupboards and bellies are full fit to burst
Let the enemy do his worst
(Repeat chorus)
Here in written word, in song, in coversation
Courtrooms sit in anticipation of the reading of the rules
The exiled poet fleeing Nazi Germany, would say,
‘Oh these divine commandments are not much use against murder’