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The Dying Soldier

  • Ger Costelloe

    Look at the dying soldier
    I heard someone whisper
    Then I saw the blood come through my shirt
    Am I going to die here
    I don't want to die here
    Someone come and pick me from the dirt
    I don't belong here
    I don't want to die here, oh no
    I don't belong here
    Don't let me die here, oh no

    My hands are getting 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 belong here
    I don't want to die here, oh no
    I don't belong here
    Don't let me die here, oh no

    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 belong here
    I don't want to die here, oh no
    I don't belong here
    Don't let me die here, oh no

    I want to go back home where my friends are
    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 want to go back home where my friends are
    I want to go on living there
    (Said the dying soldier)
    (Said the dying soldier)

    As sung by Christy Moore

Susannes Folksong-Notizen

  • [1984:] This was written by Ger Costelloe from Shannon in Co. Clare whose father wrote 'Sean South of Garryowen'. (Christy Moore Songbook 100)

Quelle: Ireland

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16.06.2003. aktualisiert am 08.02.2004