The Sniper

 Because back home in Tennessee
 I was a champeen shot,
They made a sniper outa me
 An' ninety krouts I got:
 I wish to Christ I'd not!

Athinkin' o' them blasted lives
 It's kindo' blue I be;
Them lads no doubt had kids an' wives
 An' happy home like me:
 Them stiffs I still can see.

Aye, ninety men or more my hand
 Has hustled down to hell;
They've loaded me with medals and
 They tell me I done well:
 A hero for a spell.

But Heaven help me to forget
 Them fellow men I've slain,
The bubbling flow of blood I've let . . .
 I'll never kill again:
 To swat flies gives me pain.

Just let me dream when we will see
 And end of soldierin';
When flags of famous victory
 Will be amoulderin':
An' lethal steel an' battle blast
 Be nightmares of the past.

Form: Ballad

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