Face Down in the Snow

Near the old silo. 

I thought they'd of let him go. 

He'd grown so old, 

With a heart of gold. 

They wouldn't know.

-

While I was hiding near the road, 

To Sarajevo. 

My brother's dead below me. 

They slit the throat, 

Of this lonely Croat. 

They didn't know.

-

All these lives we're taking, 

And all this widow making. 

All these men have families, 

All alone at home, waiting.

Hoping with their children, 

That this war will spare them. 

Every morning knowing, 

They may wake to find their loved ones gone, laying,

Face down in the snow.

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