He was just a blue-eyed Boston boy
|
His voice was low with pain
|
"I'll do your bidding comrade mine
|
If I ride back again
|
But if you ride back and I am left
|
You'll do as much for me
|
Mother you know, must hear the news
|
So write to her tenderly."
|
|
"She's waiting at home like a patient saint
|
Her fond face pale with woe
|
Her heart will be broken when I am gone
|
I'll see her soon, I know"
|
Just then the order came to charge
|
For an instant hand touched hand
|
They said "Aye" and away they rode
|
That brave and devoted band.
|
|
Straight was the track to the top of the hill
|
The rebels they shot and shelled
|
Plowed furrows of death through the toilling ranks
|
And guarded them as they fell
|
There soon came a horrible dying yell
|
From heights that they could not gain
|
And those whom doom and death had spared
|
Rode slowly back again.
|
|
But among the dead that were left on the hill
|
Was the boy with the curly hair
|
The tall dark man who rode by his side
|
Lay dead beside him there
|
There's no one to write to the blue-eyed girl
|
The words that her lover had said
|
Momma, you know, awaits the news
|
And she'll only know he's dead.
|
|
-----------------
|
Two Soldiers
|
Bob Dylan |