Lone Bellow
Call To War
Tables prepared and streets of goldYou've bared your tears from stories toldThe stage is set so we can flyBut suns will set and hearts are wild'Til the southern wind puts me me six feet downMy feet won't rest 'til my love is foundRemember when the mountains fellLike pennies down a wishing wellWishing not the day would comeWhen I would march so far from home'Til the southern wind puts me me six feet downMy feet will march to holy groundOur labor, it may end in vainWhile we walk the fields of the slainWhen call to war from trumpets tallLove will see the armies fallWhen call to war from trumpets tallLove will see the armies fall
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