Lay down your weapon on this block from once a building.
Lay down your weary head upon this rock from the rubble.
Lie down in this hell-hole of what once was somebody’s town.
Lie down under church-bell ‘ere in your own blood you drown.
Aye, this is where civilization once bloomed and blossomed.
Aye, this is where revolution spirit groomed you for death.
Ashes all around and the vultures cry.
Ashes call quiet, and the vultures die.
Oh, lay you down, now lay you down, now lay you down. . .
Why cry or laugh or frown; make this dirt your night gown
And crown yourself king of this stinking, devastated town.
Sleep this night of looming gloom away.
Sleep this night of fright in your way.
Let go of war-torn haunts ever taunting your mind.
Let go of war-born guilt that your soul does bind.
Oh, not your fault, your fault, not your fault!
You were sold and bought and so you fought;
How else could it have been? You were caught.
And now sleep, sleep, sleep . . . where civilization once lay.