Minstrel Boy in the land of the free and the home of the brave...
The minstrel fell, but the foe man's chains could ne'er drag his proud soul under
the harp he loved ne'er spoke again, for he tore her proud cords asunder
saying no man's hand shall sully thee, thou soul of love and bravery
thy cords were meant for the pure and free, they shall never sound in slavery.
But what of the minstrel who is left behind, to walk among the silent martyr's graves
To spend long nights thinking of the many friends in forgotten prison cells
to count the number of friends among the missing, the lost, the disappeared
The voice of such a minstrel becomes a melancholy, mechanical thing without a soul
a song lost in a land of slavery.
I walked out in the middle of a song last night, never did that before
but the sound in my throat was not my voice
thy cords were meant for the pure and free
they shall never sound in slavery.