The Honour Guard
The honour guard are glass eyed on parade,
waiting for inspection
and the day for which they've trained.
Double ranks in waiting
for the chief of the command,
the never coming skirl and drums
of massed and marching bands.
This honour guard stands alert
both day and through the night,
despite the chaos on the outside,
resolutely bolt upright.
Crimson on the tunic,
the tam o’ shanters straight,
you never know what this guard
may love or what it hates.
Now after decades of their drill,
you hear them coming double time,
a tattoo sounding on the drums,
up to the threshold, here they come,
the honour guard of kingdom come.