My (Am)youngest son came (C)home to(Em)day.
His (Am)friends marched with him (C)all the (Em)way.
The (Am)flutes
and drums beat (Em)out the (Am)time,
As in his box of (Em)polished (Am)pine,
Like dead meat (Em)on a (Am)butcher's (Em)tray,
My
(Am)youngest son (G)came home to(Am)day.
My (Am)youngest son was a (C)fine young (Em)man
With a (Am)wife, a daughter, (C)and a (Em)son,
A (Am)man he
would have (Em)lived and (Am)died,
Till by a bullet (Em)sancti(Am)fied.
Now he's a (Em)saint, or (Am)so they (Em)say
-
They (Am)brought their saint (G)home to(Am)day.
U(Am)pon the narrow (C)Belfast (Em)streets
An (Am)Irish sky looks (C)down and (Em)weeps
On (Am)children's blood
in (Em)gutters (Am)spilled
For dreams of freedom (Em)unful(Am)filled
As part of (Em)freedom's (Am)price to (Em)pay
My
(Am)youngest son came (G)home to(Am)day.
My (Am)youngest son came (C)home to(Em)day.
His (Am)friends marched with him (C)all the (Em)way.
The (Am)flutes
and drums beat (Em)out the (Am)time,
As in his box of (Em)polished (Am)pine,
Like dead meat (Em)on a (Am)butcher's (Em)tray,
My
(Am)youngest son (G)came home to(Am)day. -
And (G)this time he's (Em)home to (Am)stay.
