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The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors
And the brown earth bleached white
At the edge of his gravestone
He's gone
When the wars of our nation did beckon
The man, barely twenty, did answer the calling
Proud of the trust
That he placed in our nation
He's gone
But eternity knows him
And it knows what we've done
And the rain fell like pearls
On the leaves of the flowers
Leaving brown, muddy clay
Where the earth had been dry
And deep in the trench
He waited for hours
As he held to his rifle
And prayed not to die
But the silence of night
Was shattered by fire
As the guns and grenades
Blasted sharp through the air
One after another
His comrades were slaughtered
In the morgue of marines
Alone, standing there
He crouched ever lower
Ever lower, with fear
They can't let me die
They can't let me die here.
I'll cover myself
With the mud and the earth
I'll cover myself
I know I'm not brave.
The earth, the earth
The earth is my grave.
The grave that they dug him had flowers
Gathered from the hillsides in bright summer colors
And the brown earth bleached white
At the edge of his gravestone
He's gone
-- Don Mclean - The Grave
There's a prophet on a mountain and he's making up dinner
With long division and riding crop
Anybody can feel like a winner
When it's served up piping hot
But the people aren't looking for a handout
They're America's working corps
Can this be what they voted for?
Let them eat war [x2]
That's how to ration the poor
Let them eat war [x2]
There's an urgent need to feed
Declining pride
From the force to the union shops
The war economy is making new jobs
But the people who benefit most
Are breaking bread with their benevolent hosts
Who never stole from the rich to give to the poor
All they ever gave to them was a war
And a foreign enemy to deplore
stefano wrote:Roger Waters. Am on a political trip just now so would like to start with Perfect Sense off Amused to Death:
The monkey sat on a pile of stone
And he stared at the broken bone in his hand
Strains of a Viennese quartet rang out across the land
The monkey looked up at the stars
And he thought to himself
Memory is a stranger
History is for fools
And he cleaned his hands in a pool of holy writing
Turned his back on the garden and set out for the nearest town
Hold on hold on soldier
When you add it all up
The tears and the marrowbone
There's an ounce of gold
And an ounce of pride in each ledger
And the Germans kill the Jews
And the Jews kill the Arabs
And the Arabs kill the hostages
And that is the news
And is it any wonder that the monkey's confused
He said Mama Mama, the President's a fool
Why do I have to keep reading these technical manuals
And the joint chiefs of staff
And the brokers on Wall Street said
Don't make us laugh, you're a smart kid
Time is linear
Memory's a stranger
History is for fools
Man is a tool in the hands
Of the great God Almighty
And they gave him command of a nuclear submarine
Sent him back in search of the Garden of Eden
Can't you see
It all makes perfect sense
Expressed in dollars and cents,
Pounds, shillings and pence
Can't you see
It all makes perfect sense
But if by 'it all' you mean 'it all', then some earlier Waters - Time off Dark Side of the Moon:
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.
Leonard Cohen wrote:I love to speak with Leonard
He's a sportsman and a shepherd
He's a lazy bastard living in a suit
But he does say what I tell him
Even though it isn't welcome
He just doesn't have the freedom
To refuse
He will speak these words of wisdom
Like a sage, a man of vision
Though he knows he's really nothing
But the brief elaboration of a tube
Going home without my sorrow
Going home sometime tomorrow
Going home to where it's better than before
Going home without my burden
Going home behind the curtain
Going home without the costume that I wore
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