| The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
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| They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
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| They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
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| In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs
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| The patriot’s dream is as old as the sky
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| It lives in the lust of a cold callous lie
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| Let’s drink to the men who got caught by the chill
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| Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills
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| The train pulled away on that glorious night
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| The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
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| While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
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| While riding off to glory in the spring of their years
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| The patriot’s dream still lives on today
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| It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
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| Let’s drink to the men who got caught by the chill
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| Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills
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| Well there was a sad, sad lady, weeping all night long
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| She received a sad, sad message from a voice on the telephone
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| Her children were all sleeping as she waited out the dawn
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| How could she tell those children that their father was shot down
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| So she took them to her side that day and she told them one by one
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| Your father was a good man ten thousand miles from home
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| He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
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| He might be in some prison, I hope he’s treated well
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| Well there was a young girl watching in the early afternoon
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| When she heard the name of someone who said he’d be home soon
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| And she wondered how they got him, but the papers did not tell
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| There would be no sweet reunion, there would be no wedding bells
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| So she took herself into her room and she turned the bed sheets down
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| And she cried into the silken folds of her new wedding gown
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| He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
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| He might be in some prison, I hope he’s treated well
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| Well there was an old man sitting in his mansion on the hill
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| And he thought of his good fortune and the time he’d yet o kill
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| Well he called to his wife one day, «Come sit with me awhile»
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| Then turning toward the sunset, he smiled a wicked smile
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| «Well I’d like to say I’m sorry for the sinful deeds I’ve done
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| But let me first remind you, I’m a patriotic son»
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| They tried to do their duty and it took 'em straight to hell
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| They might be in some prison, I hope they’re treated well
|
| The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
|
| They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
|
| They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
|
| In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs
|
| The train pulled away on that glorious night
|
| The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
|
| While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
|
| While riding off to glory in the spring of their years
|
| The patriot’s dream still lives on today
|
| It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
|
| Let’s drink to the men who got caught by the chill
|
| Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills |