| Who are these ones who would lead us now
|
| To the sound of a thousand guns
|
| Storm the gates of hell itself
|
| To the tune of a single drum
|
| Where are the girls of the neighborhood bars
|
| Whose loves were lost at sea
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| In the hills of France and on German soil
|
| From Saigon to Wounded Knee
|
| Who come from long lines of soldiers
|
| Whose duty was fulfilled
|
| In the words of a warrior’s will
|
| And protocol
|
| Where are the boys in their coats of blue
|
| Who flew when their eyes were blind
|
| Was God in town for the Roman games
|
| Was he there when the deals were signed
|
| Who are the kings in their coats of mail
|
| Who rode by the cross to die
|
| Did they all go down into worthiness
|
| Is it wrong for a king to cry
|
| And who are these ones who would have us now
|
| Whose presence is concealed
|
| Whose nature is revealed
|
| In a time bomb
|
| And last of all you old seadogs
|
| Who travel after whale
|
| You’d storm the gates of hell itself
|
| For the taste of a mermaid’s tail
|
| Who come from long lines of skippers
|
| Whose duty was fulfilled
|
| In the words of a warrior’s will
|
| And protocol |