| I was there in the winter of '64
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| When we camped in the ice at Nashville’s doors
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| Three hundred miles our trail had lead
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| We barely had time to bury our dead
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| When the Yankees charged and the colors fell
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| Overton hill was a living hell
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| When we called retreat it was almost dark
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| I died with a grapeshot in my heart
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| Say a prayer for peace
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| For every fallen son
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| Set my spirit free
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| Let me lay down my gun
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| Sweet mother Mary I’m so tired
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| But I can’t come home 'til the last shot’s fired
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| In June of 1944
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| I waited in the blood of Omaha’s shores
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| Twenty-one and scared to death
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| My heart poundin’in my chest
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| I almost made the first seawall
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| When my friends turned and saw me fall
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| I still smell the smoke, I can taste the mud
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| As I lay there dying from a loss of blood
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| Say a prayer for peace
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| For every fallen son
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| Set my spirit free
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| Let me lay down my gun
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| Sweet mother Mary I’m so tired
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| But I can’t come home 'til the last shot’s fired
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| I’m in the fields of Vietnam,
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| The mountains of Afghanistan
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| And I’m still hopin', waitin’prayin'
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| I did not die in vain
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| Say a prayer for peace
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| For every fallen son
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| Set our spirits free
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| Let us lay down our guns
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| Sweet mother Mary we’re so tired
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| But we can’t come home 'til the last shot’s fired
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| 'Til the last shot’s fired
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| Say a prayer for peace (for peace)
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| For our daughters and our sons
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| Set our spirits free (set us free)
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| Let us lay down our guns
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| Sweet mother Mary, we’re so tired
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| But we can’t come home (No we can’t come home)
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| 'Til the last shot’s fired |