Guns Are The Tongues

Carrie ran a murderous crew

Dedicated through and through

And the chance to prove

They never squandered

And they liked to kill so clean

Save the innocent, kill the mean

But from time to time a bullet wandered

Carrie kept her souvenirs

Kept her scrapbook down the years

Of her brave boys

How she cried to read it

And a few fell by the way

Or lost the stomach for the fray

So young blood was always needed

Carrie noticed him right away

The way his whole body would sway

Like a trawler boy finding his legs ashore

They said he was just nineteen

A head case but his record was clean

Just the kind they were looking for

Carrie watched him through the crack

As they teased him behind his back

They called him Little Joe

'Cause he scraped the ceiling

And when he was the worse for wear

She took him up the stair

And soon he fell for her brand of healing

She said, I'll lie like a rose on your pillow

Let me twine the laurel in your hair

I want to smell my love on your fingers

If you want to be mine, Little Joe

You must harden your mind, Little Joe

We've got to fight for what is ours

Bring peace to the grave of my brother

Bring peace to the grave of my father

Dry the old eyes of my mother, Little Joe

There's a roadblock down the way

Thick with soldiers night and day

They'll hear the noise

All the way to Glengarry

If you show you've got the stuff

That you're sworn and brave enough

Then you'll stand tall

In the eyes of your Carrie

And I will lie like a rose on your pillow

And I'll twine the laurel in your hair

I want to smell revenge on your fingers

Guns are the tongues, Little Joe

The only words we know

The only sound that'll reach their ears

Bring peace to the grave of my brother

Bring peace to the grave of my father

Dry the old eyes of my mother, Little Joe

Now Little Joe would've jumped clear

But for the awful fear

Of scraping his knees there on the gravel

The car was a rolling bomb

Blew all to Kingdom come

They marveled how far

His boots had traveled

Another hero snatched from my pillow

I used to twine the laurel in his hair

I want to smell sacrifice on my fingers

Guns are the tongues, Little Joe

The only words we know

The only sound that'll reach their ears

Bring peace to the grave of my brother

Bring peace to the grave of my father

Dry the old eyes of my mother, Little Joe