See the priest in gleaming nappies

Gurgling and burping child at play

Signing warrents, blessing firing squads

are the pleasures of this baby's day



In a street where broken buildings fall

on burning people ten feet tall

on stockinged knees, not all, not all

Just those who fight in bonfire light

In spite of all the crowds who call

Their hero, a goldfish jockey

Their hero remains Mr. Baby



Mr. Baby spills it by the ton

He wraps his mouth around his gun

He says,