Not With Deserters Songtext
von Iris DeMent

Not with deserters from the battle
That tears my land do I belong
To their coarse praise I do not listen
They shall not have from me one song

Poor exile, you are like a prisoner to me
Or one upon a bed of sickness
Dark your road, oh wanderer
Of wormwood smacks your alien breath


Here into smoking fires that blacken
Our lives, the last of youth we throw
Who in the years behind us never
Sought to evade a single blow

Poor exile, you are like a prisoner to me
Or one upon a bed of sickness
Dark your road, oh wanderer
Of wormwood smacks your alien breath

We know that in the final reckoning
No hour will need apology
No people in the world are prouder
More tearless simpler than are we


Poor exile, you are like a prisoner to me
Or one upon a bed of sickness
Dark your road, oh wanderer
Of wormwood smacks your alien breath