Summer death, slow step
Walk behind the mother of the thirteen year old brown-eyed boy
Attitudes, attitudes
Sloganized by middle boots
The men who slogged the brown-eyed boy

And it's the end of everything that you've been told about
Decency, honesty
And it's the end of holding back and breaking bones and building bombs
And hanging witch-hunts conducted by men of such opinion

Repeat first verse

And it's the end of building roads to load the dead to someone else's field
And it's the end of falling back on breaking backs and aching handshakes
And playing fields conducted by men of such opinion

But the fathers crossed you boys
I fire so heaven knows it only righteous folk
But righteous taste hold the keys to sitting grace
To conduct and to proclaim decisions made of such opinions

And it's the time of summer days
When children sing about the killing fields
Winter melts the snow and knees will crack on rock
And the iron on earth beneath the dearth bequeathed