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 dead