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I was there in the winter of '64 |
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When we camped in the ice at |
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Nashville's door |
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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 grape shot in my heart |
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Say a prayer for peace for every fallen son |
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Set my spirit free, let me lay down my gun |
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Sweet Mother |
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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 |
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Omaha's shores |
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Twenty-one and scared to death |
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My heart pounding in my chest |
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I almost made the first sea wall |
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When my friends turned and saw me fall |
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I still smell the smoke, |
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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 for every fallen son |
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Set my spirit free, let me lay down my gun |
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Sweet Mother |
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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 |
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VietnamThe mountains of |
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Afghanistan |
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And I'm still hoping, waiting, praying |
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I did not die in vain |
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Say a prayer for peace for every fallen son |
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Set our spirits free, let us lay down our guns |
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Sweet Mother |
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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 for our daughters and our sons |
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Set our spirits free, set us free, let us lay down our guns |
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Sweet Mother |
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Mary we're so tired |
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But we can't come home |
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No we can't come home 'til the last shot's fired |
