My youngest son came home today His friends marched with him all the way The fife and drum beat out the time While in his box of polished pine Like dead meat on a butcher's tray My youngest son same home today
My youngest son was a fine young man With a wife, a daughter and two sons And a man he would have lived and died Till by a bullet sanctified Now he's a saint or so they say They brought their young saint home today
An irish sky looks down and weeps
Upon the narrow belfast streets
[Billy Bragg, My Youngest Son Came Home Today lyrics and video on http://crocmusic.com/]
At children's blood in gutters spilled In dreams of glory unfulfilled 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 pipe and drum beat out the time While in his box of polished pine Like dead meat on a butcher's tray My youngest son came home today And this time he's here to stay
Words and music: eric bogle
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