Lyrics Holy Irons - Grant-Lee Phillips

Holy Irons

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 dead