[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Hero's Song

Here I am
In the desert again
A compass and a weapon
A lost American
I started out with a simple plan
And a locket in my hand
But the sun so unforgiving
And the wind so hard to stand

Fall out, fall out
With the rest of your brothers
With the rest of your sisters
Heroes on the line
Carry out what your leader says
For what his leader says
Is that his leader says
This is right for the people

No one will ever understand why
Thousands of beautiful, healthy,
Young statues must fall
Smoke and explosions surround me
A flood of hate, it drowns me
I cannot live this way
No I cannot live

Doubt and confusion
They find me
They run up right behind me
I cannot die this way
No, I cannot die this way

In the water, in the sand
Is the blood of a culture
Is the blood of an ancient people
In whose holy war I stand
I hear the world like a cannon roar
Say I can't win this war
I promise them this is
Not what I signed up for

No one will ever understand why
Thousands of beautiful, healthy,
Young statues must fall
Smoke and explosions surround me
A flood of hate, it drowns me
I cannot live this way
No, I cannot live

Doubt and confusion
They find me
They run up right behind me
I cannot die this way
No, I cannot die this way

No one will ever understand why
Thousands of beautiful, healthy,
Young soldiers must fall

Smoke and explosions surround me
A flood of hate, it drowns me
I cannot live this way
I cannot live
With your doubt and confusion
They find me
They run up right behind me
I cannot die this way
No, I will not die this way

By Brendan James

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Where's All The Freedom?

Where's all the freedom that we're fightin' for?
Is it still our creed from shore to shore?
Every soldier fights, should we read him his new rights?
There's not that many to read any more
Where's all the freedom that we're fightin' for?

Where's all the freedom that we fought to save?
Is it gone for good with yesterday?
Hey, it ain't no fun around and it's the same in every town
Ain't sure of the ten commandments anymore
Where's all the freedom that we're fightin' for?

My grandson done gone to battle
And I'm somewhere below Seattle
Can't afford to take my car to the grocery store
Where's all the freedom that we're fightin' for?

My grandson done gone to battle
And I'm somewhere below Seattle
Countin' the cars with police across the door
Where's all the freedom that we're fightin' for?

Where's all the freedom that we're prayin' for?
Are we a nation under God any more?
How long do we cower down, is this really still our ground?
Our country's like a prisoner of war
Where's all the freedom that we're fightin' for?

By Merle Haggard

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Who Would Jesus Bomb?

I've seen you in the markets
I've seen you in the streets
And at your political convention
Talking of your crusade
Talking of your nation
And other things too terrible to mention
And you proclaim your Christianity
You proclaim your love of God
You talk of apple pie and mom
Well I've just got one question
And I want an answer
Tell me, who would Jesus bomb?

Maybe Jesus would bomb the Syrians
'Cause they're not Jews like him
Maybe Jesus would bomb the Afghans
On some kind of vengeful whim
Maybe Jesus would drive an M1 tank
And he would shoot Saddam
Tell me, who would Jesus bomb?

I've seen you on the TV
And on the battleships
I've seen you in the house upon the hill
And I've heard you talking
About making the world safer
And about all the men you have to kill
And you speak so glibly
About your civilization
And how you have the moral higher ground
While halfway around the world
Your explosives smash the buildings
Ah, if you could only hear the sound

But maybe Jesus would sell land mines
And turn on his electric chair
Maybe Jesus would show no compassion
For his enemies in the lands way over there
Maybe Jesus would have flown the planes
That killed the kids in Viet Nam
Tell me, who would Jesus bomb?

Yes I hear you shout with confidence
As you praise the lord
And you talk about this God you know so well
And you talk of Armageddon
And your final victory
When all the evil forces go to hell
Well you'd best hope you've chosen wisely
On the right side of the lord
And when you die your conscience it is clear
You'd best hope that your atom bombs
Are better than the sword
At the time when your reckoning is here

'Cause I don't think Jesus would send gunships into Bethlehem
Or jets to raze the towns of Timorese
I don't think Jesus would lend money to dictators
Or drive those SUV's
And I don't think Jesus would ever have dropped
A single ounce of napalm
So tell me, who would Jesus bomb?

by David Rovics

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Devil Is My Running Mate

The devil is my running mate.
This here is his favorite state
Sorry you folks had to wait.
He always likes to show up late.

No, that ain't a rainbow son.
It's streetlamps on petroleum
Let's pull in here and get us some.
Supplies are running out now.

It ain't the reason for the war.
That's meanness boy and nothing more.
They tried to do this all before,
but Daddy wouldn't let them.

Sometimes I don't like what I got into.
Sometimes I can't stand to read my name.
Sometimes I can only hear their voices
casting me back from where I came.

The devil is my running mate.
Confusion is his favorite state.
Surely you folks can relate.
I know we've gathered here to hate.

It doesn't matter who we blame
as long as you all hear a name.
All them bastards look the same.
Everyone is guilty.

Everybody look away.
Look away. Look away.
It doesn't matter what I say.
It's what I do that's shifty.

Sometimes I don't know what we got into.
Sometimes I don't think I know a thing.
Sometimes I can't even see the trees now
for the flames, for the flames.

The devil is my running mate,
and this here is his favorite state.
There ain't no other candidate.
It wouldn't matter anyway.
The devil is my running mate.
The devil is my running mate.
The devil is my running mate.

By Jason Isbel

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
This Is War

i'm just a normal man
i wouldn't hurt nothing at all
but here we are

our leaders have a plan
i'd only kill if it's for them
now here we are

i drove in a car and flew in a plane
to come to your house and kick your door in
now it's down to this, it's just you and me
i'll blow your fucking head off for my country

i go to church and tithe
i go to work in a suit and tie
but this is war
i'm really not sure why
but the tv says that you are wrong
now here we are

my feet hurt from the sand
but still i march on gun in hand
cause this is war
this isn't what i planned
i wanted to be so much more
but this is war

By Doc Pomus

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Rich Man's War

Jimmy joined the army 'cause he had no place to go
There ain't nobody hirin' 'round here since all the jobs went
Down to Mexico
Reckoned that he'd learn himself a trade maybe see the world
Move to the city someday and marry a black haired girl
Somebody somewhere had another plan
Now he's got a rifle in his hand
Rollin' into Baghdad wonderin' how he got this far
Just another poor boy off to fight a rich man's war

Bobby had an eagle and a flag tattooed on his arm
Red white and blue to the bone when he landed in Kandahar
Left behind a pretty young wife and a baby girl
A stack of overdue bills and went off to save the world
Been a year now and he's still there
Chasin' ghosts in the thin dry air
Meanwhile back at home the finance company took his car
Just another poor boy off to fight a rich man's war

When will we ever learn
When will we ever see
We stand up and take our turn
And keep tellin' ourselves we're free

Ali was the second son of a second son
Grew up in Gaza throwing bottles and rocks when the tanks would come
Ain't nothin' else to do around here just a game children play
Somethin' 'bout livin' in fear all your life makes you hard that way

He answered when he got the call
Wrapped himself in death and praised Allah
A fat man in a new Mercedes drove him to the door
Just another poor boy off to fight a rich man's war

By Steve Earle

(Warning: this video has graphic photos of casualties)


(Live version, no grim images)
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Lives In The Balance

I've been waiting for something to happen
For a week or a month or a year
With the blood in the ink of the headlines
And the sound of the crowd in my ear
You might ask what it takes to remember
When you know that you've seen it before
Where a government lies to a people
And a country is drifting to war

And there's a shadow on the faces
Of the men who send the guns
To the wars that are fought in places
Where their business interest runs

On the radio talk shows and the t.v.
You hear one thing again and again
How the USA stands for freedom
And we come to the aid of a friend
But who are the ones that we call our friends-
These governments killing their own?
Or the people who finally can't take any more
And they pick up a gun or a brick or a stone

There are lives in the balance
There are people under fire
There are children at the cannons
And there is blood on the wire

There's a shadow on the faces
Of the men who fan the flames
Of the wars that are fought in places
Where we can't even say the names

They sell us the president the same way
They sell us our clothes and our cars
They sell us every thing from youth to religion
The same time they sell us our wars
I want to know who the men in the shadows are
I want to hear somebody asking them why
They can be counted on to tell us who our enemies are
But they're never the ones to fight or to die

And there are lives in the balance
There are people under fire
There are children at the cannons
And there is blood on the wire

By Richie Havens

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Sound The Bugle

Sound the bugle now - play it just for me
As the seasons change - remember how I used to be
Now I can't go on - I can't even start
I've got nothing left - just an empty heart

I'm a soldier - wounded so I must give up the fight
There's nothing more for me - lead me away...
Or leave me lying here

Sound the bugle now - tell them I don't care
There's not a road I know - that leads to anywhere
Without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark
Lay right down - decide not to go on

Then from on high - somewhere in the distance
There's a voice that calls, "Remember who you are"
If you lose yourself - your courage soon will follow

So be strong tonight - remember who you are
Yeah you're a soldier now - fighting in a battle
To be free once more - yeah, that's worth fighting for

By Bryan Adams

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
San Patricos

Two hundred Irish go into Mexico
To fight a battle of manifest destiny
Driven by their Catholic conscience
They chose to rise and do what's right
Joined up with the natives for the fight

Confused then torn by aggression
Born against a sovereign land
El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios
El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios

Sick and tired of the Anglo abuse of might
And of following orders from a bent U.S. regime
They joined ranks with the Mexican army
Red headed ones led by Johny Riley
When you stand behind your principles
You never lose

Confused then torn by aggression
Born against a sovereign land
El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios
El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios

Fight with Riley fierce and wild

Mirar aqui Rudy

Churubusco de el 72
No queridos en la corte marcial
50 colgados, 16 madriados
Portrados como trydores
Grito para ellos, grito para todos
Parados nunca calleron

So we celebrate Irish and Mexican unity
It was forged with blood during manifest destiny

Confused then torn by aggression
Born against a sovereign land
El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios
El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios

Led by Riley fierce and wild
They paid highest price

El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios
El Battalion, El Battalion de San Patricios

By 'Street Dogs'

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com

The Saint Patrick's Battalion

My name is John Riley
I'll have your ear only a while
I left my dear home in Ireland
It was death, starvation or exile
And when I got to America
It was my duty to go
Enter the Army and slog across Texas
To join in the war against Mexico

It was there in the pueblos and hillsides
That I saw the mistake I had made
Part of a conquering army
With the morals of a bayonet blade
So in the midst of these poor, dying Catholics
Screaming children, the burning stench of it all
Myself and two hundred Irishmen
Decided to rise to the call

From Dublin City to San Diego
We witnessed freedom denied
So we formed the Saint Patrick Battalion
And we fought on the Mexican side


We marched 'neath the green flag of Saint Patrick
Emblazoned with "Erin Go Bragh"
Bright with the harp and the shamrock
And "Libertad para Mexicana"
Just fifty years after Wolftone
Five thousand miles away
The Yanks called us a Legion of Strangers
And they can talk as they may

We fought them in Matamoros
While their volunteers were raping the nuns
In Monterey and Cerro Gordo
We fought on as Ireland's sons
We were the red-headed fighters for freedom
Amidst these brown-skinned women and men
Side by side we fought against tyranny
And I daresay we'd do it again

We fought them in five major battles
Churobusco was the last
Overwhelmed by the cannons from Boston
We fell after each mortar blast
Most of us died on that hillside
In the service of the Mexican state
So far from our occupied homeland
We were heroes and victims of fate

From Dublin City to San Diego
We witnessed freedom denied
So we formed the Saint Patrick Battalion
And we fought on the Mexican side


by David Rovics

The Saint Patrick’s Battalion, Mexican-American War, 1846

Battle of Monterrey, September 21, 1846

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Take Me Back To Dear Old Blighty

Jack Dunn, son of a gun, over in France today,
Keeps fit doing his bit up to his eyes in clay.
Each night after a fight to pass the time along,
He's got a little gramophone that plays this song:

Take me back to dear old Blighty!
Put me on the train for London town!
Take me over there,
Drop me anywhere,
Liverpool, Leeds, or Birmingham, well, I don't care!
I should love to see my best girl,
Cuddling up again we soon should be,
WHOA!!!
Tiddley iddley ighty,
Hurry me home to Blighty,
Blighty is the place for me!


Bill Spry, started to fly, up in an aeroplane,
In France, taking a chance, wish'd he was down again.
Poor Bill, feeling so ill, yell'd out to Pilot Brown:
"Steady a bit, yer fool! we're turning upside down!"

Take me back to dear old Blighty!
Put me on the train for London town!
Take me over there,
Drop me anywhere,
Liverpool, Leeds, or Birmingham, well, I don't care!
I should love to see my best girl,
Cuddling up again we soon should be,
WHOA!!!
Tiddley iddley ighty,
Hurry me home to Blighty,
Blighty is the place for me!


Jack Lee, having his tea, says to his pal MacFayne,
"Look, chum, apple and plum! it's apple and plum again!
Same stuff, isn't it rough? fed up with it I am!
Oh! for a pot of Aunt Eliza's raspb'ry jam!"

Take me back to dear old Blighty!
Put me on the train for London town!
Take me over there,
Drop me anywhere,
Liverpool, Leeds, or Birmingham, well, I don't care!
I should love to see my best girl,
Cuddling up again we soon should be,
WHOA!!!
Tiddley iddley ighty,
Hurry me home to Blighty,
Blighty is the place for me!


One day Mickey O'Shea stood in a trench somewhere,
So brave, having a shave, and trying to part his hair.
Mick yells, dodging the shells and lumps of dynamite:
"Talk of the Crystal Palace on a Firework night!"

Take me back to dear old Blighty!
Put me on the train for London town!
Take me over there,
Drop me anywhere,
Liverpool, Leeds, or Birmingham, well, I don't care!
I should love to see my best girl,
Cuddling up again we soon should be,
WHOA!!!
Tiddley iddley ighty,
Hurry me home to Blighty,
Blighty is the place for me!


By A.J. Mills, F. Godfrey and B. Scott
(1916)

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Ireland

They say mother earth is breathing
With each wave that finds the shore
Her soul rises in the evening
For to open twilights door
Her eyes are the stars in heaven
Watching o'er us all the while
And her heart it is in Ireland
Deep within the Emerald Isle

We are forty against hundreds
In someone else's bloody war
We know not why were fighting
Or what we're dying for
They will storm us in the morning
When the sunlight turns to sky
Death is waiting for its dance now
Fate has sentenced us to die

Ireland I am coming home
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone
I am reaching out won't you take my hand
I'm coming home Ireland


Oh the captain he lay bleeding
I can hear him calling me
These men are yours now for the leading
Show them to their destiny
As I look up all around me
I see the ragged tired and torn
I tell them to make ready
'Cause we're not waiting for the morn

Ireland I am coming home
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone
I am reaching out won't you take my hand
I'm coming home Ireland
I

Now the fog is deep and heavy
As we forge the dark and fear
We can hear their horses breathing
As in silence we draw near
There are no words to be spoken
Just a look to say good-bye
I draw a breath and night is broken
As I scream our battle cry

Ireland I am coming home
I can see your rolling fields of green
And fences made of stone
I am reaching out won't you take my hand
I'm coming home Ireland


We were forty against hundreds

By Garth Brooks

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Paddy Lay Back

T'was a cold and frosty morning in September
And all of me money it was spent,,
Where it went to oh Lord I can't remember
So down to the shipping office went

Oh Paddy lie back, oh Paddy lie back,
Take in your slack, take in your slack
Take your turn put on your hats and jump for board,,
About ship's for England boys be handy
For we're bound for Valparaiso in the morn


Last night there was a great demand for sailors
For the colonies for Frisco and for France
So I slipped aboard a lively barque, the Hotspur
And was paralytic drunk before before we went

There were Frenchmen, there were Germans, there were Russians
There were jolly jacks came just across from France
And not one of them could speak a word of English
But they'd answer to the name of Bill or Dan

I woke up in the morning sick and sore
I wished I'd never sailed to sea once more
When a voice it came thundering through the floor
Get up and pay attention to your name

Well I wished that I was safely in the boozer
With Molly or with Peggy on me knee
And I know exactly what I'd like to do now
And if you were here you'd do the same as me

Oh Paddy lie back, oh Paddy lie back,
Take in your slack, take in your slack
Take your turn. put on your hats and jump for board,
About ship's for England boys be handy
For we're bound for Valparaiso in the morn


Author unknown

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
A Song of the Irish Armies

A wind blew out of the Prussian plain;
It scourged Liège, and it broke Louvain,
And Belgium shook with the tramp of Cain,
That a Kaiser might be mad.
"Iron is God!"—and they served him well—
"Honour a mark for shot and shell."
So they loosed the devils out of Hell
From Birr to Allahabad.

The Old Soldiers sing:

But we took them from Mons to the banks of the Marne,
And helped them back on their red return;
We can swim the Rhine if the bridges burn,
And Mike O'Leary's the lad!
Not for this did our fathers fall:
That truth, and pity, and love, and all
Should break in the dust at a trumpet's call,
Yea! all things clean and old.
Not to this had we sacrificed:
To sit at last where the slayers diced,
With blood-hot hands, for the robes of Christ,
And snatch at the Devil's gold.

The New Soldiers sing:

To Odin's challenge we cried Amen!
We stayed the plough, and laid by the pen,
And we shouldered our guns like gentlemen,
That the wiser weak should hold.

Blood on the land, and blood on the sea!
So it stands as ordained to be,
Stamp, and signet, and guarantee
Of the better ways we knew.

Time for the plough when the sword has won;
The loom will wait on the crashing gun,
And the hands of peace drop benison
When the task of death is through.

Old and New Soldiers sing:

Then lift the flag of the Last Crusade!
And fill the ranks of the Last Brigade!
March on to the fields where the world's re-made,
And the Ancient Dreams come true!

By T. M. Kettle

Emer Fox, 'Those Who Fought And Never Made It Home'
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Cramped In That Funnelled Hole

Cramped in that funnelled hole, they watched the dawn
Open a jagged rim around; a yawn
Of death's jaws, which had all but swallowed them
Stuck in the bottom of his throat of phlegm.

They were in one of many mouths of Hell
Not seen of seers in visions, only felt
As teeth of traps; when bones and the dead are smelt
Under the mud where long ago they fell
Mixed with the sour sharp odour of the shell.

By Wilfred Owen

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The H-Block Song

I am a proud young Irishman.
In Ulster’s hills my life began;
A happy boy through green fields ran;
I kept God’s and Man’s laws.
But when my age was barely ten
My country’s wrongs were told again.
By tens of thousands marching men
And my heart stirred to the cause.

So I’ll wear no convict’s uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland‘s fight
Eight hundred years of crime.


I learned of centuries of strife,
Of cruel laws, injustice rife;
I saw now in my own young life
The fruits of foreign sway:
Protestors threatened, tortured, maimed,
Divisions nurtured, passions flamed,
Outrage provoked, right’s cause defamed;
That is the conqueror’s way.

So I’ll wear no convict’s uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland‘s fight
Eight hundred years of crime.


Descended from proud Connacht clan,
Concannon served cruel Britain’ s plan;
Man’ s inhumanity to man
Had spawned a trusty slave.
No strangers are these bolts and locks,
No new design these dark H-Blocks,
Black Cromwell lives while Mason stalks;
The bully taunts the brave.

So I’ll wear no convict’s uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland‘s fight
Eight hundred years of crime.


Does Britain need a thousand years
Of protest, riot, death and tears,
Or will this past decade of fears
Of eighty decades spell
an end to Ireland’ s agony,
New hope for human dignity;
And will the last obscenity
Be this grim H-Block cell?

So I’ll wear no convict’s uniform
Nor meekly serve my time
That Britain might brand Ireland‘s fight
Eight hundred years of crime.


by Francie Brolly (Dungiven, 1976)

The Blanket Protest began September 14, 1976

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Missing

Their silence keeps me sleepless for I know
Within the smoke their ash revolves as snow,
To settle on our skin as fading stars
Dissolve into pure dust at break of day.

At dawn a distant shudder in the earth
Disclosed the fold of fire into steel,
These rumbles not from subways underground,
But screams from out of towers sheathed in flame.

We stood upon the heights like men of straw
Transfixed by flames that started in the sky,
And watched them plunging down in death¹s ballet
To land among those dying deep below.

We breathed the smoke that bent and crept and crawled.
We learned to hate the smoke that lingered so.
We knew that blood could only answer blood,
And so we yearned to go and not to go.

By evening all their ash had settled so
That on the leaves outside my window glowed
Their souls in small bright stars until the rain
Cleaned us of what could not be clean again.

That last, lost summer faded into ash.
Their faces faded as the autumn flowed
Through chill and heat into the Persian sea,
Where angered warships prowled in search of stones.

Within their city, shrines were our resolve.
We placed them where they stood or where they lay.
And now upon our stones their faces loom
And gaze at us from times beyond repeal.

Their silence keeps me sleepless for I know.

by Gerard Van der Leun
[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
The Dying Firefighter

I saw the plane hit the building
The flames and the billowing smoke
I saw the glass, paper, metal and stone
Everything shattered and broke
I was there with my people
Engine Company 24
We rushed into the building
Got as far as the 35th floor

The black smoke and the heat was like nothing
I'd seen in all of my years
With each step in that blazing inferno
You could feel destiny near
In the midst of the falling girders
The sheet rock and God knows what else
I tried to find the survivors
Those who made it to the stairwells

I carried the wounded to safety
If that's what you might call the street
With bodies and concrete and metal
All crashing down by your feet
As #2 was collapsing
When only ten floors still stood
Everything was falling around me
Like it was made out of cardboard and wood

It was just then I heard someone
Trapped underneath the debris
I started pulling at something
And that's when the fire got me
I was pinned 'neath the rubble
And the flames were licking my coat
And the pain, the unbearable agony
And then that was all that she wrote

But I just wish I could tell you
Before I am taken away
That I've seen a lot of this world
And there's something that I gotta say
I don't believe in politics
I believe in the human race
I believe in the goodness of people
In New York or some far-away place

I believe in my daughter
And I believe in my wife
And may nobody's father be taken
To avenge the loss of my life
People may call me a brave man
And this may very well be
But the firefighters of Kabul
Are just as brave men as me

by David Rovics

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Tân yn Llŷn (Fire in Llyn)
English translation:


Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?
Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?
Fire in our hearts and fire in our works
Fire in our faith and fire in our words.

Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?
Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?
Fire in our hearts and fire in our works
Fire in our faith and fire in our words,
Fire, fire, fire, fire,
Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?


D.J., Saunders and Valentine,
Oh what a fire that was started by them,
Fire in the north that extended down to the south,
A fire that was aflame throughout everywhere

A country aflame from the border to the sea,
Hope in her protest and freedom to her store,
Hearts burning to rectify the step
And the spark in Llyn had kindled the flame

Where is the fire that was lit once before?
Extinguished by the rain and demolished by the wind?
Was the sacrifice in vain, was the faith in vain
That the flame would be lit once again some day?

Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?
Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?
Fire in our hearts and fire in our works
Fire in our faith and fire in our words,
Fire, fire, fire, fire,
Why not light a fire like the fire in Llyn?


By Ann Fychan

Original Welsh lyrics: )

Tân Yn Llŷn, September 8, 1936

[identity profile] duathir.livejournal.com
Hero's Lullabye

Sleep, my son, don't you cry tonight
Tomorrow's sun will rise shining bright
On a faraway world your father bravely fights
And he'll return in the morning

Oh, your father is tall and your father is strong
Your father is a soldier born
Born to fight and born to die
While I am left alone to cry

Sleep, my son, don't you cry tonight
Tomorrow's sun will rise shining bright
On a faraway world your father bravely fights
And he'll return in the morning


Oh, I cry for my father, who died in the field
I cry for my brother, whose wounds never healed
I cry for these men, forced to fight and die
Who never know peace in their lives

Sleep, my son, don't you cry tonight
Tomorrow's sun will rise shining bright
On a faraway world your father bravely fights
And he'll return in the morning


Oh, you'll grow to be a soldier, my boy
Learn to shoot a gun like a toy
Learn to fight and learn to kill
And then be buried in the morning

Sleep, my son, don't you cry tonight
Tomorrow's sun will rise shining bright
On a faraway world your father bravely fights
And he'll be buried in the morning

By Anne Harlan Prather


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War Poetry

January 2017

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