Lyrics:

We'll remember when that wreath is just a crown of thorns
To drape around your helmet - hide out anywhere at all
We'll remember when you're no more than a poem on a grave -
A sideline for the guy who writes the birthday cards but never signs his name
He's got your number, feels your pain...
Though you're smiling from the mantel-piece
And you've got your rifle trained
It's pointing at the T.V. Shall we tell you when to fire?
There's a programme we all hate... it's not a late show so you won't be tired
We remember how you loved the war films
And hid behind the sofa throwing balls of silver paper
We remember. We remember. We've got our poppies on
We hear the clock chime out eleven. We remember, we remember it's Poppy Day
(You shall not grow old!)