I've nothing left to give you, but for one last thing I've savedIn the comer of the cellar look inside the iron chestBearing seven silver medals there lies wrapped a wooden crest>From the father to the sonLike a bullet from a gunSeven silver crosses hammered on a wooden oneThe name on the last medal is a man I never knewThough I bore his name and nature and his conscience as I grewWhen they shipped him back from Passchendaele it was raining in his headNot caused by any bullet but by the faces of the dead>From the father to the sonLike a bullet from a gunSeven silver crosses hammered on a wooden oneWhen the boys came home from Dunkirk Beach, the crest came down to meAnd I served as stretcher bearer up the back of ItalyBut I didn't slow a bullet or blow any flesh apartMy medal was a red cross that was strapped across my heart>From the father to the sonLike a bullet from a gunSeven silver crosses hammered on a wooden oneMany decades later I have seen the bounty dropWe scattered those generations now we reap a ruined cropThe brains, the brawn, the beauty each in turn were sacrificedAnd marked up with a plain cross like the suffering Jesus Christ>From the father to the sonLike a bullet from a gunSeven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one>From the father to the sonLike a bullet from a gunSeven silver crosses hammered on a wooden oneI wish that I could give you something fine and something proudA history of stuggle to emancipate the crowdBut all I give's a blessing take the shield down to the seaSacrifice tradition and save your family>From the father to the sonLike a bullet from a gunSeven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one(repeat)