Flowers on our graves
by Steven Clotzman

It was the first of July in the year sixty-three
we came to do battle, my brother and me.
On the Pennsylvania green fields, we loaded our guns
and we each had our reasons for the killing that was done.

And we sang songs of glory to this land that we roamed
and we all hoped that soon we'd be marchin' back home.
And we prayed unto God that our souls, he might save
and that the women would remember and put the flowers on our graves.

Now, we wore our blue and they dressed in gray
And all of our fears, they're forgotten today
As charged into battle and came face to face
Though in a matter of moments we were all laid to waste.

And we sang songs of glory to this land that we roamed
and we all hoped that soon we'd be marchin' back home.
And we prayed unto God that our souls, he might save
and that the women would remember and put the flowers on our graves.

On the second, it continued, though I never knew why,
There were thousands now dead on the both of our sides.
And my brother went down but no tears did I cry
'cause when the bullets are flying there's no time for goodbyes.

And we sang songs of glory to this land that we roamed
and we all hoped that soon we'd be marchin' back home.
And we prayed unto God that out souls, he might save
and that the women would remember and put the flowers on our graves.

By the third day of battle my chest, it did burn,
My head started achin' and my soul, it did yearn.
And the angels came calling but they wouldn't take me.
They just left me there, crying as my heart, it did bleed.

And I sang songs of glory to this land that I roamed
and I hoped maybe soon I'd be marchin' back home.
And I prayed unto God that my soul, he might save
and that the women would remember and put the flowers on my grave.

I remember July in the year sixty-three,
the sky was a'thunderin', the ground shook under me.
And on the Pennsylvania green fields the end did arrive,
though when the smoke finally cleared it seemed like no one had survived.

And we sang songs of glory to this land that we roamed
and we all hoped that soon we'd be marchin' back home.
And we prayed unto God that our souls, he might save
and that the women would remember and put the flowers on our graves


© 1987 & 2006 Steven Clotzman - all rights reserved