My Youngest Son Lyrics - Slime

[Originally by Eric Bogle] 

It's an 800 years never ending war 

That causes grief, sorrow, suffering and pain - and glory. 

But glory for who? 

My youngest son came home today 

His friends marched with him all the way 

The flutes and drums beat out the time 

As in his box of polished pine 

Like dead meat on a butcher's tray 

My youngest son came home today. 

My youngest son was a fine young man 

With a wife and a daughter and a son 

As a man he would have lived and died 

Till by that bullet sanctified 

Now he's a saint or so they say 

They brought their saint home today. 

Above the narrow Belfast streets 

An Irish sky looks down and weeps 

On childrens' blood in gutters spilled 

For dreams of freedom unfilled 

As part of freedom's price to pay 

My youngest son came home today. 

My youngest son came home today 

His friends marched with him all the way 

The flutes and drums beat out the time 

As in his box of polished pine 

Like dead meat on a butcher's tray 

My youngest son came home today 

But this time he's home to stay.