He described the third man and the human factor
He gave Dickie A his start as an actor
He was cherished by many as our greatest living writer
To the people of Nice
He was a hell of a fighter
Now we'll have to read John le Carre instead
Oh, Graham Greene is dead
He was unhappy with the Pope and he was riddled with sin
But his pen had power and glory like a man within
From the start of Stamford Train to the end of the affair
He was a painter and a poet There was magic in the air
In a million different languages he wrote and we read
Oh,
Graham Greene is dead People say The Fallen Idol was the best film
ever made And our man in Havana will never settle
in the shade There's a thousand potent memories with the
theme of Harry Lime And Dickie and the Consul will stay with
us for all time Today every lover has a tear that must be
shed Oh,
Graham Greene is dead
He had a way to escape his sort of a life He never needed a bomb
party for his words cut like a knife He would slice through
fakes and phonies to the heart of the matter And then travel with
his aunt who was as bad as a hatter He could show comedians,
describe the ministry of fear and lies Quite Americans,
all life is borrowed here He knew generals and traitors,
pity films,
he's a disgrace He was never a loser or
a burnt-out case I can't take any more,
he's doing it in my head Oh,
Graham Greene is dead
And we talk of William Shakespeare and we pause to reflect
There are Dickens and Lord Byron and few others to respect
But the schoolboy from Birkhampton will be up there with
the gods Helping poor Giochi battle devils Hence the art,
it's the end of an era leaving nothing to be said Oh,
Graham Greene is dead Oh,
Graham Greene is dead Oh,
Graham Greene is dead