| Through a stained-glass morning
|
| They’re diggin' in the green grass again
|
| Who’s that mournin'
|
| I have seen her face somewhere, but when?
|
| Well fold up the flag that was covering him
|
| Give it to the woman that was lovin' him
|
| And whisper that he died
|
| Defending her liberty
|
| But they’ll lay him six feet down
|
| In some far-off piece of ground
|
| With one stone markin' him
|
| Where three should be
|
| 'Cause they’ll never give her back
|
| The song he could sing
|
| And they’ll never give her back
|
| The child he could bring
|
| And they’ll never give her back
|
| The brother they took from me
|
| Through a stained-glass morning
|
| A thousand years have greened the grass again
|
| In the rain now I hang mournin'
|
| The face I couldn’t recognize, then
|
| So fold up the flag that was coverin' me
|
| Give it to the woman who was lovin' me
|
| Then whisper that I died
|
| Defending her liberty
|
| But they laid me six feet down
|
| In some far-off piece of ground
|
| With one stone markin' me
|
| Where three should be
|
| 'Cause they never gave her back
|
| The song I could sing
|
| And they’ll never give her back
|
| The child I could bring
|
| And they never gave her back
|
| The brother they took from me. |