| Mothers would awake to feed their children
|
| Our brothers would awake to mend their nets and sails
|
| Mothers would awake to feed their children
|
| Our brothers would awake to mend their nets and sails
|
| They had the boundless light of a new day dawning
|
| And a burning living driving will
|
| They had the light of a boundless new day dawning
|
| They had a burning living driving will
|
| Meanwhile the old men sit on the top of a hill
|
| Waiting through your legislation
|
| Wading; |
| trudging, through your debate
|
| About whether or not to send
|
| Another hundred thousand young men and women
|
| Off
|
| Into the hurricane
|
| No taxation without representation
|
| We will not pay a toll in blood
|
| The old men were sitting on top of the hill
|
| While the younger
|
| Ushered a place for both down by the creek
|
| Singing they are following
|
| Cold and fishing to their marked graves
|
| The old men sit on top of the hill
|
| Of 58,000
|
| Walking
|
| Walking across the plain I am descending
|
| Six feet underground
|
| You send me here
|
| Every name
|
| Every name
|
| Upon this wall
|
| You send me here
|
| Six feet under
|
| Why don’t you take a short walk
|
| Walk out of your oval office
|
| Walk out of the state house
|
| Take a short walk across the lawn
|
| And descend to six feet under and read those names
|
| And you’re debating, still debating whether or not to send me here
|
| You’re debating, you’re debating whether or not to send more over there
|
| Six feet under
|
| You really do carry my weight
|
| Bats grazing
|
| In the lighted sky above our houses
|
| Lightning bugs rising higher and higher
|
| Bats grazing in the sky
|
| In the night sky above our houses
|
| Lightning bugs rising higher and higher
|
| As the sun leaves behind
|
| As the sun leaves behind
|
| This valley
|
| This waking valley song
|
| A memorial
|
| Oh, six feet to be under you really did
|
| Carry my weight
|
| The earth, I confess, is not made to our unhappy state
|
| And you’re still debating
|
| Debate
|
| Debate
|
| What is this?
|
| A voice in his head
|
| A voice comes quick and it fades on
|
| It is this waking valley song
|
| Archaic and bent with time
|
| It is this memory
|
| It is his memory |