Mother Bury Your Sons - Me And That Man, Alan Averill

If I scatter your ashes both far and wide

Across our nations great and sacred divide

Forgotten churchyard to ancient temple ruin

Broken bended knee to prayer and absolution

Rusted weapons at this empty border post

To the bones that are scattered across this foreign coast

Dressed in rags and our spiritual riches

Could you heal our wounds within mother’s forgiveness?

Dressed in rags and our spiritual riches

Could you heal our wounds?

What beauty you reveal across the dreaded wire

Cheekbones of razor and eyes of defiant fire

Time stood still for the love we have proven

And this the vow of our heart’s destitution

As young men who never thought of growing old

The words that leave a sign of love untold

Dressed in rags and our spiritual riches

Could you heal our wounds within mother’s forgiveness?

Dressed in rags and our spiritual riches

Can you heal our wounds?

Can you heal our wounds?

Take my hands and heal these wounds

Mother won’t you bury your sons?

Oh, mother you bury your sons

Oh, mother you bury, you bury your sons

You will bury, your sons