Swords into Ploughshares
Beating swords into ploughshares,
Turning hate into love,
Weakness is your greatest strength,
Don’t let the hawk kill the dove.
Rory McBride wis only twelve,
Out fishing on the Clyde,
Something tugged upon his line,
And he very nearly died.
As he fell intae the watter,
He yelled oot words obscene,
Cos it isnae every single day,
That ye catch a submarine.
Drookit he sat upon the bank,
His body awe aquiver,
“Oh fuckin’ Hell,” he cried,
Whit’s that doin’ in oor river.”
For though he wis jist a lad,
He sensed it wisnae right,
Tae try an’ keep the peace wae,
A trillion ton o’ dynamite.
Rory found oot all aboot the subs,
Four cuckoo eggs inglorious,
Vessels of mass destruction,
Vanguard, Vigilant, Vengeance and Victorious.
Each wan wae fourteen nuclear missiles,
Havin’ eight warheids each,
All hoosed just a stones through frae,
Where he played upon the beach.
At eighteen Rory joined the camp,
That’s based doon at Faslane,
Livin’ rough in the carriage,
O a fifty year old train.
And so he joined the battle,
Tae huv Trident removed,
Takin’ part in protest marches,
Though not everyone approved.
Selflessly Rory fights the war for peace,
He’s been tae jail on many a time,
Though he’s never raised a fist in rage,
Loving humanity his only crime.
Noo twenty years he’s been there,
Despite threats and eviction orders,
For our quiet hero, willnae budge,
Till those subs have left oor borders.