Yes, you there, two seats in front.
I see and hear you there, kicking, screaming,
Determined to give your mother hell,
Though you don’t know you are.
You don’t know what you’re doing.
All of us are born conservative that way.
Some never seem to grow out of it.
Well, kick and scream and shout while you can, kiddo.
About whatever you like.
Sweets. Mummy. TV. Sausage rolls. I don’t care.
And soon, neither will you.
Sweat those small things to high heaven
While you have an excuse.
It’ll be good practice.
‘Cause there’s a lot of big things to sweat too.
Someday you’ll find this out. And you’ll yearn
To be how you are now. Small, protected.
Yours is a simple life. All the worrying is done for you.
You don’t have to do exams.
You don’t have to pay taxes.
You don’t have to worry about the man in Downing Street
Or the man in the White House.
Or in the Kremlin, or in the Reichstag.
Or how they’re messing everything up, down and around.
You don’t need to worry about
What children in Africa or Syria
Lose sleep (and life) over every day.
Yours is a world where blankets and teddy bears
Guard you from all the bad in the world.
I wish I could tell you
To hold onto that world, and never let go.
But everything has its time.
Soon, you too must enter the real world…
And believe me when I say,
I’ll cry for you when you do.