| Heavy from walking, we stopped for the night
|
| Near the shallow river, a never fright
|
| But night fell on us before dawn
|
| 'Till all of our hope was over, drawn
|
| If every man lay down his gun
|
| We would no longer be
|
| 'Cause your war is your sickness
|
| And so it’s our disease
|
| O, distant constant quarreling lot
|
| Your risk is greater than what you’ve got
|
| Open your high road, you drag us along the long road
|
| Of our brothers gone
|
| We didn’t fight back
|
| We fought to escape
|
| Smuggling gasoline for food
|
| Before we were of age
|
| Your war is your sickness
|
| And so it’s our disease
|
| O, distant constant quarreling lot
|
| Your risk is greater than what you’ve got
|
| Open your high road, you drag us along the long road
|
| Of our brothers gone
|
| 'Cause we are so uncertain
|
| Of the future, that we may face
|
| And we don’t like the burning
|
| Of the very flame we had in place
|
| Some day we will be replaced
|
| By the guns of the sons and their fatherless rage
|
| And we are not deserting
|
| But we see no course to take
|
| You hear the curtain falls
|
| And heralds the curtain calls
|
| Come out, come alive
|
| Time is no lie
|
| Everyone now, in a row
|
| So quiet and so devout
|
| Can you resign yourself to accept
|
| A better hell
|
| We’ll not fall in their curse
|
| Facing life in prison or possibly worse
|
| Our fathers are calling mass
|
| Asking us to drink from the pain of their past life
|
| O, distant constant quarreling lot
|
| Your risk is greater than what you’ve got
|
| Open your high road, you drag us along the long road
|
| Of our brothers gone
|
| 'Cause we are so uncertain
|
| Of the future, that we may face
|
| And we don’t like the burning
|
| Of the very flame we had in place
|
| Some day we will be replaced
|
| By the guns of the sons and their fatherless rage
|
| And we are not deserting
|
| But we see no course to take |