Tekst:
Iron Wine Carried Home

black eye We shook some money from your mother's old clothes When all had gathered 'round the soldier boy, carried home (Carried home, carried home, carried home, carried home

Carried home The sick kids ate a bowl of red clay The late judge teetered in a jon boat The town had gathered around the soldier boy Carried home The

swollen black eye We shook some money from your mother's old clothes When all had gathered 'round the soldier boy carried home, carried home Carried home, carried home

of our bones God, every road takes us farther from home All these men that you made how we wither in the shade of your trees, on your wings we are carried