Butcher's Tale

A butcher yes that was my trade

But the king's shilling is now my fee

A butcher I may as well have stayed

For the slaughter that I see

And the preacher in his pulpit

Sermon: "Go and fight, do what is right"

But he don't have to hear these guns

And I'll bet he sleeps at night

And I

And I can't stop shaking

My hands won't stop shaking

My arms won't stop shaking

My mind won't stop shaking

I want to go home

Please let me go home

Go home

And I have seen a friend of mine

Hang on the wire

Like some rag toy

Then in the heat the flies come down

And cover up the boy

And the flies come down in

Gommecourt, Thiepval

Mametz Wood, and French Verdun

If the preacher he could see those flies

Wouldn't preach for the sound of guns

And I

And I can't stop shaking

My hands won't stop shaking

My arms won't stop shaking

My mind won't stop shaking

I want to go home

Please let me go home

Go home