Текст песни Holy Irons - Grant-Lee Phillips

Brother on brother Lying in the fields Only the Devil is keepin' score Your blonde haired boys
Are scattered long these hills Picked clean like cotton in
A rich man's war
Lay down your holy irons Lay down your guns
And shining bayonets Lay down your holy irons It's gonna' be a job
To raise the dead
Got no mansion on
The yonder mount No plantation pillars all in white Just a Southern boy
Behind a plough Swept up like nothin' In a poor man's fight
Lay down your holy irons Lay down your guns and shining bayonets Lay down your holy irons It's gonna' be a job to raise the dead
Farewell Cordelia Let me hold ya close So I can remember how it feels If a bullet brings me down Before I make it home Ya know that I'll be dreamin' of you still Yes I will...
Little soldiers all in blue and grey Every one of us a' bleedin' red And when this broken body falls away We'll all lie down in the same earthen bed
Lay down your holy irons Lay down your guns and shining bayonets Lay down your holy irons It's gonna' be a job to raise the dead Lay down your holy irons Lay down your guns and shining bayonets The broken hearted Lord can only wring his hands It's gonna' be a job to raise the