Holding High the Head of Medusa

from by Sherman to the Fucking Sea

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lyrics

The Lord knows no grace
like the sun-warm earth
of a newly peaced union
beneath a commander’s feet.

And with nothing
left of the rebels
but the scrawl of their blood
upon this parchment

I just want a home-cooked meal
the comforting creak of my floor
a glass of bourbon neat
and my long-tried wife at my side.

But first we’ll march on the Capital
barefoot in tattered habit.
The Northern mothers weeping
at the sight of our faces.

The bronze Persius
the dream whaler writes of
holds high a lesser symbol
than I here carry back to Lincoln.

But there need be no overwrought
sentiments or allusions
to express what every soldier
in the rank and file feels.

Because it’s good to be home.
It’s good to see my mother.
It’s good to be home.
It’s good to see my brother, my sister and father.

credits

from The Lost Army, released January 14, 2011

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