| The homecoming fanfare is echoing still
|
| Now tapping on tables and sensing a chill
|
| Poor families expecting a loved one’s return
|
| Only son and some charlatan specter, oh, when will they learn?
|
| You hung the moon from a gallows in the sky
|
| Choked out the light in his blue lunar eye
|
| The shore is a parchment, the sea has no tide
|
| Since he was taken from my side
|
| The lines of the fallen are viewed through the glass
|
| You cannot touch them at all
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| Or hear their footfall just as they go past
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| The drunken ground is where they are bound
|
| You hung the moon from a gallows in the sky
|
| Choked out the light in his blue lunar eye
|
| The shore is a parchment, the sea has no tide
|
| Since he was taken from my side
|
| So slap out his terrors and sneer at his tears
|
| We deal with deserters like this
|
| From the breech to the barrel, the bead we will level
|
| Break earth with a shovel, quick march on the double
|
| And lower him shallow like tallow down in the abyss
|
| You hung the moon from a gallows in the sky
|
| Choked out the light in his blue lunar eye
|
| The shore is a parchment, the sea has no tide
|
| Since he was taken from my side
|
| Since he was taken from my side
|
| The homecoming fanfare is echoing still |