I was born in '24
Too late to know the Great Fallen
In time to know the Great Fall
When my father died of money
My mother lived in spite
We laughed when nothing was funny
And how we wept when nothing was left
So I left there in boomtown
When I reached fifteen years
I travelled mostly northeast
With my head held mostly down
'Cause they said there was more in Baltimore
Where those shipyards never close
You can sell the man your labor
And send the money home
Broadway found me penniless
The mission found me last
They gave me a coat and three days rest
And when I awoke and left
A shroud of steam surrounded me
And I was borne away
I found myself at Sparrows Point
With a slingshot in my hand.
Standing there around me
Two thousand idle hands
Their heads bowed low, their hopes not high
Their hearts weaned of their homes
Their pockets full of photographs
Their eyes full of goodbyes
I took my place among my kind
And I held my place in line
Now I'm twenty one and well-employed
I send home most of my pay
Which leaves plenty left for cigarrettes
To help me pass the days
With beloved friends surrounding me
The cold streets so far away
Three days west of Normandy
A rifle in my hand.
My name is William Taylor I was born in '24 Too late to know the Great Fallen In time to know the Great Fall When my father died of money My mother lived in spite We laughed when nothing was funny And how we wept when nothing was left So I left there in boomtown When I reached fifteen years I travelled mostly northeast With my head held mostly down 'Cause they said there was more in Baltimore Where those shipyards never close You can sell the man your labor And send the money home Broadway found me penniless The mission found me last They gave me a coat and three days rest And when I awoke and left A shroud of steam surrounded me And I was borne away I found myself at Sparrows Point With a slingshot in my hand. Standing there around me Two thousand idle hands Their heads bowed low, their hopes not high Their hearts weaned of their homes Their pockets full of photographs Their eyes full of goodbyes I took my place among my kind And I held my place in line Now I'm twenty one and well-employed I send home most of my pay Which leaves plenty left for cigarrettes To help me pass the days With beloved friends surrounding me The cold streets so far away Three days west of Normandy A rifle in my hand. Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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