Let them in, Peter
|
For they are very tired
|
Give them couches where the angels sleep
|
And light those fires
|
Let them wake whole again
|
To brand new dawns
|
Fired by the sun
|
Not war-times bloody guns
|
May their peace be deep
|
Remember where the broken bodies lie
|
God knows how young they were
|
To have to die
|
|
You know God knows how young they were
|
To have to die
|
|
Give them things they like
|
Let them make some noise
|
Give dance hall bands not golden harps
|
To these our boys
|
Let them love Peter
|
For they've had no time
|
They should have bird songs and trees
|
And hills to climb
|
The taste of summer
|
And a ripened pear
|
And girls as sweet as meadow wind
|
And flowing hair
|
And tell them how they are missed
|
But say not to fear
|
It's gonna be all right
|
With us down here
|
|
Let them in, Peter
|
For they are very tired
|
Give them couches where the angels sleep
|
And light those fires
|
Let them wake whole again
|
To brand new dawns
|
Fired by the sun
|
Not war-times bloody guns
|
May their peace be deep
|
Remember where the broken bodies lie
|
God knows how young they were
|
To have to die
|
|
You know God knows how young they were
|
To have to die
|
|
And tell them how they are missed
|
But say not to fear
|
It's gonna be all right
|
With us down here
|
|
It's gonna be all right
|
With us down here
|
|
-----------------
|
Prayer To St. Peter
|
| Edwin McCain |
