| Dig down deep don’t fold
|
| For the faintest wind might blow
|
| You’re off your mark, off your game
|
| Soil your old man’s good name
|
| Hoist your head, don’t weep
|
| For a terrible storm might sweep
|
| You’re out to sea, that big, black sea
|
| We’ll lay you down to sleep
|
| And the soldiers circle round and round
|
| And the trumpeter’s horn blows a deafening sound
|
| You plant your feet, you stand your ground
|
| While the bricks you lay
|
| They come crumbling down
|
| From head to toe
|
| Covered up in dust like Jericho
|
| When you shed your skin down to your bones
|
| You know a house don’t make a home
|
| When you build it all alone, no, no
|
| That’s just a hollow skeleton of sticks and stones
|
| Left, right, left, we’ll march
|
| To the pounding beat of our hearts
|
| And the battle will rattle the earth
|
| Down to its core
|
| Do you forget just what we’re fighting for?
|
| And the sun will rise in the east
|
| And the crimson’ll stream at your feet
|
| We’ll come and recede
|
| We’ll bathe in stain (?)
|
| And by the grace of God we can start again |