The Pikeys

The West Coast's Celtic Brotherhood of Rock

The Sons of War

I had a prodigal son, Mathew was his name

He went to war on a foreign shore

Lost his legs, and was never the same

He used to lay the bricks, now he lays a’bed

Strong arms strong back, they won’t come back

Brand new boots, unused til he’s dead

My second son named Mark, he had such clear green eyes

From Sunday Mass, to Mustard Gas

Coughing fits, until he dies

Blood flecks his lips, wracked by choking cough

Loses his breath, and waits for death

Mark my son, your life is lost

Luke, my tallest son, he answered his Captain’s call

He sailed away, from Galway Bay

And lost a race with a cannon ball

It took him in the chest, and opened up his life

He fell to the deck, his body a wreck

His empty bed, and his lonely wife

The fate of my son John, the youngest son of mine

Just like the rest, he gave his best

The King calls war, hour glass runs dry

And now I sit alone, and gaze at the lonely shore

My heart is bent, my sons are spent

Alas my children, the sons of war.

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