Manning - The Widows' Tale lyrics

I. The Land Far from Holy Ireland, stands a man with a gun One hand holds religion, the other has none When will it end, a country divides There's murder in paradise, far from Holy Ireland Oh, Ireland...so far from Holy Ireland... Oh, Ireland... II. A Soldier's Story Dear God, I don't know why I'm writing this all down I need to see it all clearly, the writing on the page I can't reach the page, I don't want all of me to die So listen up, little God There's nothing wrong, you know, in being afraid But I need to feel there's a purpose, some small part to play And an end some day Every time I put the helmet on and feel the metal in my hands The serial number burns into my palms and he tries to leave a mark... And if I have to fire (dear God...), I take the knocks I feel the punch and there's a body on the floor We walk the street too noisily, I wish we'd fade away or stayed away But I'm told we're doing good now and things could be much worse (Oh, what a curse) Please pray till it's over and wait for me alone Don't cry on my burnt bones, don't show my medals around... And when a bullet finds me (dear God)... well it will seek to take my breath And in that d**h, no will or testament Dear God I don't know why I'm writing this all down I need to set it out again, and sign it At the end (x3) And I only wish that I had somewhere left to send it to And a place to call home and the memory of a girl And one last friend who stayed with me Till the end (x4) III. The Widows' Tale I look at your picture, and I start to cry I look at your children, and I start to cry Tangled Lives, make believe you really want to know Tangled Lives Lie to me please and make the pain go Make it go... We can talk to our Gods, and plead and blame them for the things we do And then we'll turn on ourselves and leave no part in tact to make anew Tangled Lives, make believe you really want to know Tangled Lives Lie to me please and make the pain go Make it go... How many times must I wish myself broken in two? And why can't I sleep and make all of those dreams come all true? Because, the dreams always bring me back to you I think of us now, and I start to cry So many things to talk over, but there's no hurry anymore Broken Lives, make believe you really want to know Broken Lives, oh lie to me, please, and make the pain go Make it go...I miss you so IV. Priests' Song Old Man of Cloth you raise the dead and you urge the young to join their number Lay low the urban chattel pulling out the plums to make some spaces Pounding on the 'good book' like a punchbag on a string From the stage you gaze down on the Ma**, a puppet on parade Plead the cause, turn the screw The Sacrament remains brand new Until you feel the welcome hand of sleep upon your shoulder Ask not the zealot for a favour, he rallies like a Sergeant Major "One more time, Boys!" He eyes the sheep, oh, very humble, serves a slice Of papal crumble from a silver plate Calling in the debt that a father's father made He drives the wedges home again, the father's sons will pay Plead the cause, turn the screw The Sacrament remains brand new Until you feel the welcome hand of sleep upon your shoulder Let's kiss the hand that breaks the bread, turns the wine from water Wrapped in a ski mask, calls the flock to slaughter A hand to mouth, a mouth to hand, a tremor rides across the land A self fulfilling battle in a long forgotten War A hand that's pushed away from the slowly closing door The grit that makes the pain in a festered open sore The God that once was righteous now is used As a who*e (x2) Plead the cause, turn the screw The Sacrament remains brand new Until you feel the welcome hand of sleep upon your shoulder (X2) V. The Land (Reprise) When will it end, a country divides There's murder in paradise So far from Holy Ireland Oh, Ireland...so far from Holy Ireland... Oh, Ireland...