Men They Couldn't Hang The Crest
I've nothing left to give you, but for one last thing I've saved In the comer of the cellar look inside the iron chest Bearing seven silver medals there lies wrapped a wooden crest >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one The name on the last medal is a man I never knew Though I bore his name and nature and his conscience as I grew When they shipped him back from Passchendaele it was raining in his head Not caused by any bullet but by the faces of the dead >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one When the boys came home from Dunkirk Beach, the crest came down to me And I served as stretcher bearer up the back of Italy But I didn't slow a bullet or blow any flesh apart My medal was a red cross that was strapped across my heart >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one Many decades later I have seen the bounty drop We scattered those generations now we reap a ruined crop The brains, the brawn, the beauty each in turn were sacrificed And marked up with a plain cross like the suffering Jesus Christ >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one I wish that I could give you something fine and something proud A history of stuggle to emancipate the crowd But all I give's a blessing take the shield down to the sea Sacrifice tradition and save your family >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one (repeat)
