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Sunday Hardcore Matinee (Live At Fenway Park)

Now the fog and smoke is lifting from the fallen row on row

In 1861 they prayed for god to keep their soulsJimmy left home in April, that was one year to the day

Writes his mother back home in brighton but he ain't got much to say

He's forgotten what his town looks like, the smell of death is all around

He dreams of the blue atlantic to once again be homeward bound

Homeward boundThough the road was long and winding

Many snares lay in their path

But their struggle they saw as righteous

They fought with might and struck with wrathNow the battle hymns are playing, report of shots not far away

No prayer, no promise, no hand of god could save their souls that April day

Tell their wives that they fought bravely as they lay them in their gravesAs the train pulled in the station and the families gathered 'round

You could hear the first car echo with a loud triumphant sound

But the last car it was silent, they listened close but they couldn't hear

It was laden down with coffins, that didn't speak and couldn't cheerNow the battle hymns are playing, report of shots not far away

No prayer, no promise, no hand of god could save their souls that April day

Tell their wives that they fought bravely as they lay them in their gravesAs the train pulled in the station and the families gathered 'round

You could hear the first car echo with a loud triumphant soundNow the battle hymns are playing, report of shots not far away

No prayer, no promise, no hand of god could save their souls that April dayNow the battle hymns are playing, report of shots not far away

No prayer, no promise, no hand of god could save the souls of the blue and gray

Tell their wives that they fought bravely as they lay them in their graves

Songwriters

JEFF DAROSA, KENNETH W CASEY, MATHEW E KELLY, ALEXANDER BARR, JAMES P LYNCH, TIMOTHY J BRENNANPublished by

Lyrics © MEMORY LANE MUSIC GROUP

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