There was a survey a few years back that revealed that one in three of those sleeping rough on the streets of London had been in the armed forces.

A few years back when there was the D-Day Fiftieth Anniversary Commemorations, and it coincided with a quote all over the media from Prime Minister John Major, calling those sleeping rough "eyesores", and with stories about the practice of hosing down the streets in some places (outside posh hotels for example) to get rid of them. And all that came together in a song I wrote.

Yes, Larry's new one is reminiscent of Kipling - second time someone has said that about one of your songs in a few days. That's impressive. Anyway, it reminded me of that one I wrote, so here it is:

The cold grey channel and the cold grey sand
And the old men singing to a marching band,
The old men singing as they pass on by,
And the bright flags fly against the cold grey sky
And then the beach is empty
as the tide comes back
And the water covers up
the old men's tracks
The cold grey water washes all away,
the cold grey water, on the longest day.

Well it's been fifty years now
since that cold grey day,
when the young men landed
and were blown away.
And the shells rained down
as they came in to land,
and their blood was mingled with the cold grey sand.
and now the beach is empty
as the tide comes back
and the water covers up
the young men's tracks.
The cold grey water washes all away,
the cold grey water, on the longest day.

But we were all together then, or so they say.
Well, it sure as hell is not like that today.
You see the young ones begging.
Aren't they paying the cost
for that land of heroes, which we somehow lost.
Well, in the fields of Normandy,
they're sleeping still,
and in the streets of London,
where the bombs once fell.
And now you call them eyesores,
to be washed away.
Maybe they're only heroes
on the longest day.
And now the streets are empty,
and the stones are swept,
and the water covers
where the beggars slept.
And the cold grey water washes all away.
The cold grey water of the longest day.

But in the fields of Normandy,
they're sleeping still,
and in the streets of London,
where the bombs once fell.
And now you call them eyesores,
to be washed away.
But they could all be heroes
on the longest day.