What's Left Of The Flag

In his place there grew an angry festered wound Filled with hatred and remorse Where I'd pick and scratch till the blood it matched The silent rage now that fills my lungs For there are many ways to kill a man they say With bayonet, axe, or sword But son a bullet fired from a shapeless guise Leaves but the shell of a Thompson gun Walk away me boys, walk away me boys And by mornin' we'll be free Wipe that golden tear from your mother dear And raise what's left of the flag for me From the East out to the Western shore Where many men and many more will fall But no angel flies with me tonight Till freedom reigns on all And curse the name for which we slaved our days Till every man shall his kingdom come But sure as night turns day Ends the passion play Oh my God what have they done? WIth madman's rage, well they dug our graves