| Mothers would awake to feed their children
 | 
| Our brothers would awake to mend their nets and sails
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| Mothers would awake to feed their children
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| Our brothers would awake to mend their nets and sails
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| They had the boundless light of a new day dawning
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| And a burning living driving will
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| They had the light of a boundless new day dawning
 | 
| They had a burning living driving will
 | 
| Meanwhile the old men sit on the top of a hill
 | 
| Waiting through your legislation
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| Wading; | 
| trudging, through your debate
 | 
| About whether or not to send
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| Another hundred thousand young men and women
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| Off
 | 
| Into the hurricane
 | 
| No taxation without representation
 | 
| We will not pay a toll in blood
 | 
| The old men were sitting on top of the hill
 | 
| While the younger
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| Ushered a place for both down by the creek
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| Singing they are following
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| Cold and fishing to their marked graves
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| The old men sit on top of the hill
 | 
| Of 58,000
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| Walking
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| Walking across the plain I am descending
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| Six feet underground
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| You send me here
 | 
| Every name
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| Every name
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| Upon this wall
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| You send me here
 | 
| Six feet under
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| Why don’t you take a short walk
 | 
| Walk out of your oval office
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| Walk out of the state house
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| Take a short walk across the lawn
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| And descend to six feet under and read those names
 | 
| And you’re debating, still debating whether or not to send me here
 | 
| You’re debating, you’re debating whether or not to send more over there
 | 
| Six feet under
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| You really do carry my weight
 | 
| Bats grazing
 | 
| In the lighted sky above our houses
 | 
| Lightning bugs rising higher and higher
 | 
| Bats grazing in the sky
 | 
| In the night sky above our houses
 | 
| Lightning bugs rising higher and higher
 | 
| As the sun leaves behind
 | 
| As the sun leaves behind
 | 
| This valley
 | 
| This waking valley song
 | 
| A memorial
 | 
| Oh, six feet to be under you really did
 | 
| Carry my weight
 | 
| The earth, I confess, is not made to our unhappy state
 | 
| And you’re still debating
 | 
| Debate
 | 
| Debate
 | 
| What is this?
 | 
| A voice in his head
 | 
| A voice comes quick and it fades on
 | 
| It is this waking valley song
 | 
| Archaic and bent with time
 | 
| It is this memory
 | 
| It is his memory |