The loneliest man in the world

Imagine, if you would, a man
We’ll call him something, let’s say Stan
He’s just your average sort of bloke
Likes a beer, doesn’t smoke

He watches football live on Sky
Is fond of steak and kidney pie
He’s takes the train to work each day
The job's quite good, but not the pay

He voted once for Tony Blair
Back when he still had all his hair
The man in whom Stan had such hopes
Now finds himself against the ropes

The steps that took us into war
He’s finally accounting for
Stan watches on the TV news
And weighs up the reporters’ views

This chap was once so keen to please
But now, to Stan, seems ill at ease
His face is taut, his lips are tight
He’s girded, ready for a fight

He starts off tense, his speech is slow
But soon the magic starts to flow
He’s warming up now to the task
Anticipates what next they’ll ask

His arms wave freely through the air
The man of old is now out there
The rhetoric is strong but measured
Skills his party once so treasured

The public sits behind his back
Inquisitors in front attack
The questions fly; he ducks and weaves
Somebody shouts abuse, and leaves

He’s making quite a firm defence
He knows, to some, he’ll cause offence
Repentant, no; defiant, yes
He’d do the same, despite the mess

It’s, in the end, a judgement call
He’s standing by it, standing tall
If there was just one crumb of doubt
It’s not something he’ll talk about

While people look for who’s to blame
Perhaps it was done in Stan’s name
And men like him who didn’t go
On protest marches shouting ‘no’

Who didn’t write to their MPs
Or pray to God on bended knees
Who might feel duped but understand
That someone has to take a stand

It must be lonely at the top
The place where all the bucks must stop
And leadership, as Stan reflects
Is what the average bod expects

Stan thinks of all the men that now
Will bear their consciences, and how
They’ll gladly talk, once things turned bad
Of all the doubts they really had

How they were really drawn along
Cajoled and pressured, into wrong
Their consciences are still quite clean
They were just cogs in Blair’s machine

So how much does Stan really care?
Blair’s now a multimillionaire
Still, rather him than me, thinks Stan
Who wants to be that lonely man?