The mist came upon us (the Captain reported), From seemingly nowhere, like out of the sea. The helm was unsteady, though hard she was blowing. The watch sent below and reported to me, oh yes. The cook sent the lad from the galley informing The fires had died and the ovens were cold. The lookout atop of the mainmast was silent, Reporting of nothing for him to behold, oh yes. ’Twas here Mr Kerry, the Mate, then reported “Sir, half-a-cable directly ahead! ’Tis surely a frigate that slowly approaches. A strange sight indeed, Sir,” the Lieutenant said, oh yes. And yes, she was strange as she came down upon us, The Fires of St. Elmo so freely bestowed Did sweep through her sails and dance in her rigging. It seemed that her powder must surely explode, oh yes. “Hard over port on the helm!” I commanded. “Hard over port, Sir!” the helmsman replied. And as he reported “The wheel will not answer!” Then onto my quarter the frigate did glide, oh yes. Her Captain stood, his eyes on fire, And turning, he spoke as she passed by my rail. “Remember this sight that you see, Thomas Andrews. Remember this sight, or your mission will fail!” oh yes. And there as she passed, the fog began sinking And with sails burned to ash and with nothing to save, Her name being obscured by the heat of the flames, Like a wisp in the mist she then sank to her grave, oh yes. This then is account for your Lordship’s attention Of that which occurred and of which I did see, As I must report with a truth I’m believing My Lords, it was Nelson who spoke unto me, oh yes. Your Obedient Servant, Thomas Andrews, oh yes.

The mirror never lies throughout your youth, Though perhaps it might exaggerate the truth. The mirror never jokes about the news When asked about the face that it reviews. But if it shows up signs it traces in the lines What more are you entitled to? If you are wise there will be no surprise. When you are young, the mirror never lies. The mirror never cheats, it guarantees; Rejecting all responsibilities. The mirror never twists and never bends. It shows you almost all that it intends. And sometimes, it is hard; it takes you off your guard. You can’t select what to reject. The sick defeats and sad retreats And guarantees the mirror never cheats. The mirror never hates or is unfair; It freezes for you only what is there. The mirror never smiles to ease your mind. It never knew the meaning of unkind. And sometimes in the night, stood blinking in the light, You are shown something unknown. Whatever waits, it all relates And it’s unfair the mirror never hates. And sometimes in the night, stood blinking in the light, You are shown something unknown. Whatever waits, it all relates And it’s unfair the mirror never hates.

Strange how much becomes unclear, How little can be realised When that which we all rightly fear Is first examined and revised And neatly sanitized. Strange how little filters past The deep desiring to cleanse; The straining out from first to last, The poison from the pens, The violence from the lens. Stranger how restraint is urged Where such has never ever been; Where smell and hell are deftly purged Before they reach the screen – The filters come between. Strange the image that I dreamed, Too fearful ever to confide; Unsifted and unclean it seemed, And so unpurified. I was terrified, I almost died… Strange how much becomes unclear, How little can be realised When that which we all rightly fear Is first examined and revised… First examined and revised… First examined and revised And neatly sanitized.

Oh, the cries that you hear are the signals of pain, And the broken remains of a Cherokee plane Lie shivering out in the cold mountain rain And no one appears to be hearing. The radio crackles with pure white noise And the bears dance around the clearing: Dancing around the Flowers of the Sea. Such a dangerous scent is the perfume of hate That infiltrates down through the chancery gate And wafts through the window a moment too late For anyone there to prevent it. For such is politeness – frustrated and kind – Even though it may resent it When perfumed like the Flowers of the Sea. U38 slipped through the blockade With the one mistake that the cruiser made. And the voice-tube crew was unafraid, And so was Kapitän Liebig. And then a depth charge carried his stern away – “Auf Wiedersehen, Achtunddreißig!” – For you were only Flowers of the Sea. The Welsh medallion dangled and hung. Its crimson dragon in the mid-day sun Was sweating the way its mother had done (And she had been a Merino!). She came to rest upon a Guardsman’s chest Underneath the trees so green-o – Another tender Flower of the Sea. All the light that comes from the spotlight’s beam Is sometimes so diffuse it seems To waste the time of the air it cleans – If indeed it cares a beanpole! Why cannot light be laser-bright? And the moon is but a keyhole Peering at the Flowers of the Sea. All the wild mosaic in Pharaoh’s tomb Kissed the economic boom And placed a crown on he for whom The broken stones were scattered. For Pharaoh was a man who could Admit to being flattered, Commanding all the Flowers of the Sea. John was a white and honest man – At least, he was when this began – But then Mahomet’s greatest fan Turned him into a heathen. His car became a mobile tomb And now the odds are even. And John has joined the Flowers of the Sea. All the moths awoke and saw the sun, And with a rush they rose as one, But with no power to stop them come The sun turned tail in terror. But still some light is left to see Up on the High Sierra Where still are growing Flowers of the Sea.

With the cold eye of a soldier and The cold hand of a surgeon and The cold and calculating mind of Someone from Intelligence, I walk along the city street Assassinating all I meet; My crumpled uniform, once neat, Is now in disarray. Breezes blow my hair at will, Their wayward passage to fulfil But they can never pierce the heart And kill the way a deftly wielded Knife, or yet a sharpened barb, Well turned and twisted can succeed; For words will never make you bleed But only fade away. I found this weakness in the heart; Remorselessly tore it apart, But that was when my uniform Was smart and pretty in the glittering springlight; When my words so clear Fell, curdling the bitter beer, And dripped into the waiting ear ’Til silence ruled that day. And when the slaughter was complete, Another fool had found defeat And still my hands were soft and Even sweet inside the glove that played The drumsticks on the soft and kind. It took a military mind To sentence silence as the blind Went tapping on their way. With the cold eye of a soldier… With the cold eye of a soldier…

My life advances, youth to age; To elder sage, and to despise The children sitting at my feet Who nod their heads and patronise, And listen to my tales of life That they were taught in school. The vision of an older man Long since began to hinder me, As through the fog of failing sight I stumbled; and then suddenly A lens to aid my ageing eyes And again, I’m twenty-one… The bloody river’s running strong, The River Somme, the glory bought By sacrificing hopeful lives – The cannon fodder. Sharp and short Was death upon the poppy fields That ever after grew. And I shouted, “Stop the pounding guns. The river runs, and I am dead!” But Haig commanded, “Battle on!” And with bullets whistling round my head, At the age of only twenty-one I also cried for peace. At the age of only twenty-one I also cried for peace.