I've nothing left to give you, but for one last thing I've saved In the comer of the cellar look inside the iron chest Bearing seven silver medals there lies wrapped a wooden crest >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one The name on the last medal is a man I never knew Though I bore his name and nature and his conscience as I grew When they shipped him back from Passchendaele it was raining in his head Not caused by any bullet but by the faces of the dead >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one When the boys came home from Dunkirk Beach, the crest came down to me And I served as stretcher bearer up the back of Italy But I didn't slow a bullet or blow any flesh apart My medal was a red cross that was strapped across my heart >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one Many decades later I have seen the bounty drop We scattered those generations now we reap a ruined crop The brains, the brawn, the beauty each in turn were sacrificed And marked up with a plain cross like the suffering Jesus Christ >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one I wish that I could give you something fine and something proud A history of stuggle to emancipate the crowd But all I give's a blessing take the shield down to the sea Sacrifice tradition and save your family >From the father to the son Like a bullet from a gun Seven silver crosses hammered on a wooden one (repeat)