In battledress and helmet he stands on the mantelpiece
Eyes glazed and feet of clay a unique masterpiece
Three buttons on his tunic, four pouches on his belt
Is their something to communicate, a story to tell?

How many horrors haunt him?
How many good friends died?
Does he pine away each lonely day
For a girl he left behind?

The ears they cannot hear
The eyes they cannot see
But oh the tales that he tells
With such bold simplicity

Michelangelo’s David never stood so tall and proud
He should be in a gallery his praises shouted loud
So uplifting and so passionate, a priceless work of art
An insight into his maker’s mind and heart

In his glorious features
Such expression can be read
Shoulders square and hands like hams
What life might he have led?

The ears they cannot hear
The eyes they cannot see
But oh the tales that he tells
With such bold simplicity 

The ears they cannot hear
The eyes they cannot see
But oh the tales that he tells
With such bold simplicity

Such raw skill and talent

Is so rarely recognised

The soldier on the mantelpiece

Will win no Turner Prize

(Gary Miller)

© 2000 Whippet Records

Copyright Control MCPS/PRS