Am
“Look at the dying soldier”, I heard someone whisper
Em
Then I saw the blood come through my shirt.
Am
Am I going to die here? I don’t want to die here.
Em
Someone come and pick me from the dirt.
G A
I don’t belong here, don’t let me die here alone.
My hands get colder, my thoughts are growing weaker.
This must be the way it is.
Stop the shooting, don’t you see I’m dying,
Someone come and say a prayer.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
My eyes are closing. I see someone coming
He turns his back and runs away.
They’ve stopped shooting, it’s started raining,
This must be the way.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
I don’t want to die here, don’t let me die here alone.
Am
I want to go back home where my friends are,
Em
I want to go on living there, said the dying soldier
I want to go back home where my friends are,
I want to go on living there, said the dying soldier
I met with the author Ger Costello when his band The Outfit played with Moving Hearts in Limerick and The Baggott Inn.He sent me this song shortly afterwards