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Richard Thompson Sweet Warrior Guns Are The Tongues Carrie ran a murderous crew Dedicated through and through And the chance to prove They never squandered And they liked to kill so clean Save the innocent, kill the mean But from time to time, A bullet wandered Carrie kept her souvenirs Kept her scrapbook down the years Of her brave boys, how she cried to read it And a few fell by the way Or lost the stomach for the fray So young blood was always needed Carrie noticed him right away The way his whole body would sway Like a trawler boy Finding his legs ashore They said he was just nineteen A head case but his record was clean Just the kind They were looking for Carrie watched him through the crack As they teased him behind his back They called him Little Joe 'Cos he scraped the ceiling And when he was the worse for wear She took him up the stair And soon he fell For her brand of healing She said, I'll lie like a rose on your pillow Let me twine the laurel in your hair I want to smell my love on your fingers If you want to be mine, Little Joe You must harden your mind, Little Joe We've got to fight for what is ours Bring peace to the grave of my brother Bring peace to the grave of my father Dry the old eyes of my mother Little Joe There's a roadblock down the way Thick with soldiers night and day They'll hear the noise All the way to Glengarry If you show you've got the stuff That you're sworn and brave enough Then you'll stand tall In the eyes of your Carrie And I will lie like a rose on your pillow And I'll twine the laurel in your hair I want to smell revenge on your fingers Guns are the Tongues, Little Joe The only words we know The only sound that'll reach their ears Bring peace to the grave of my brother Bring peace to the grave of my father Dry the old eyes of my mother Little Joe Now Little Joe would've jumped clear But for the awful fear Of scraping his knees there on the gravel The car was a rolling bomb Blew all to Kingdom Come They marvelled how far His boots had travelled Another hero snatched from my pillow I used to twine the laurel in his hair I want to smell sacrifice on my fingers Guns are the Tongues, Little Joe The only words we know The only sound that'll reach their ears Bring peace to the grave of my brother Bring peace to the grave of my father Dry the old eyes of my mother Little Joe |
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