(God's Rifle)
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There are rifles buried in the countryside for the rising of the moon,
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may they lie there long forgotten till they rust away into the ground.
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Who will bend this ancient hatred, will the killing to an end?
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Who will swallow long injustice, take the devil for a country man?
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Who will say "this far no further, oh lord, if I die today?"
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Send no weapons no more money. Send no vengeance across the seas,
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just the blessing of forgiveness for my new countryman and me.
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Missing brothers, martyred fellows, silent children in the ground.
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Could we but hear them could they not tell us "Time to lay God's rifle down."
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Who will say, "this far, no further," oh Lord, if I die today?
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Belfast To Boston (God's Rifle)
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| James Taylor |
