
Souls of the Departed The Paradise Brothers
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On the road to Basra stood young Lieutenant Jimmy Bly
Detailed to go through the clothes of the soldiers who died
Well, at night he dreams he sees their souls rise
Like dark geese into the Oklahoma sky
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Those who've gone, left their babies brokenhearted
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Raphael Rodriguez was just seven years old
Shot down in a schoolyard by some East Compton Cholo
His mamma cries, "My beautiful boy is dead"
In the hills the self-made men just sigh and shake their heads
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Those who've gone, left their babies brokenhearted
Young lives over before they got started
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Well, tonight as I tuck my own son in bed
All I can think of is what if it would've been him instead
Want to build a wall so high nothing can burn it down
Right here on my own piece of dirty ground
Well, I ply my trade in the land of king dollar
Where you get paid and your silence passes as honor
Where all the hatred and dirty little lies
Well, they're written off the books and into decent men's eyes
Detailed to go through the clothes of the soldiers who died
Well, at night he dreams he sees their souls rise
Like dark geese into the Oklahoma sky
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Those who've gone, left their babies brokenhearted
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Raphael Rodriguez was just seven years old
Shot down in a schoolyard by some East Compton Cholo
His mamma cries, "My beautiful boy is dead"
In the hills the self-made men just sigh and shake their heads
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Those who've gone, left their babies brokenhearted
Young lives over before they got started
This is a prayer for the souls of the departed
Well, tonight as I tuck my own son in bed
All I can think of is what if it would've been him instead
Want to build a wall so high nothing can burn it down
Right here on my own piece of dirty ground
Well, I ply my trade in the land of king dollar
Where you get paid and your silence passes as honor
Where all the hatred and dirty little lies
Well, they're written off the books and into decent men's eyes
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