Holy Irons - Grant-Lee Phillips
Brother on brother lying in the fields
Only the devil is keepin' score your blonde haired boys
Are scattered long these hills picked clean like cotton in
A rich man's war
Lay down your holy irons lay down your guns
And shining bayonets lay down your holy irons it's gonna' be a job
To raise the dead
Got no mansion on
The yonder mount no plantation pillars all in white just a southern boy
Behind a plough swept up like nothin' in a poor man's fight
Lay down your holy irons lay down your guns
And shining bayonets lay down your holy irons
It's gonna' be a job to raise the dead
Farewell cordelia let me hold ya close so
I can remember how it feels if a bullet brings me down before
I make it home ya know that I'll be dreamin' of you still
Yes I will
Little soldiers all in blue and grey every one of us a' bleedin' red
And when this broken body falls away
We'll all lie down in the same earthen bed
Lay down your holy irons lay down your guns
And shining bayonets lay down your holy irons
It's gonna' be a job to raise the dead lay down your holy irons
Lay down your guns and shining bayonets the broken hearted lord
Can only wring his hands it's gonna' be a job to raise the day
