Sanoja: The Men They Couldt Hang. The Crest.

I've nothing left to give you, but for one last thing I've saved
In the comer of the cellar look inside the iron chest
Bearing seven silver medals there lies wrapped a wooden crest
>From the father to the son
Like a bullet from a gun
Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one
The name on the last medal is a man I never knew
Though I bore his name and nature and his conscience as I grew
When they shipped him back from Passchendaele it was raining in his head
Not caused by any bullet but by the faces of the dead
>From the father to the son
Like a bullet from a gun
Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one
When the boys came home from Dunkirk Beach, the crest came down to me
And I served as stretcher bearer up the back of Italy
But I didn't slow a bullet or blow any flesh apart
My medal was a red cross that was strapped across my heart
>From the father to the son
Like a bullet from a gun
Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one
Many decades later I have seen the bounty drop

We scattered those generations now we reap a ruined crop
The brains, the brawn, the beauty each in turn were sacrificed
And marked up with a plain cross like the suffering Jesus Christ
>From the father to the son
Like a bullet from a gun
Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one
>From the father to the son
Like a bullet from a gun
Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one
I wish that I could give you something fine and something proud
A history of stuggle to emancipate the crowd
But all I give's a blessing take the shield down to the sea
Sacrifice tradition and save your family
>From the father to the son
Like a bullet from a gun
Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one
(repeat)