Lost Soldier Son

Lost Soldier Son © Chris Brashear (House of Hollis Music, ASCAP)

our family is proud of their lost soldier son
not because they believe in the flag or a gun
they miss him because they remember him well
and loved him so dearly for the day that he fell
 
all I knew was a picture some stories they told
about young carl junior that good hearted boy
we had a connection I’ll tell it to you
he liked the good music now just like I do
 
I see a kind face staring down from the wall
every time that I pass through my grandparent’s hall
it’s almost reflection his face so like mine
my uncle carl junior now in the grave lyin’
 
my mother remembers the day that she heard
as she learned of her brother she spoke not a word
a small yellow paper received on that day
it read killed in action in France far away
 
they still love him dearly it all seems so sad
grandmother, grandfather, my mother and dad
they cherish the last things he won from afar
that one purple heart and a bright silver star
 
now nothing can bring the boy back to the fold
but his precious memory ever lovingly hold
when the music is playing and we’re all gathered there
our spirits rekindled no more to despair
 
our family is proud of their lost soldier son
not because they believe in the flag or a gun
they miss him because they remember him well
and loved him so dearly for the day that he fell

Santa Fe Train

Santa Fe Train © Chris Brashear (House of Hollis Music, ASCAP)

I think of times when I was young
I traveled near and far
it doesn’t seem so long ago
I saw the world from a railroad car
 
for many years, rode the line
through the boone’s lick
the great train would roll
cross fields of grain, muddy river plain
my heart would often go
 
(chorus)
 
the engineer’s hair is gray
the worn out engine can’t even go slow
I listen for that lonesome sound
can’t you hear that whistle blow
 
I spy ten boxcars silent and still
they remind me of yesterday
their rusted frames worn and bent
faded letters read santa fe
 
the great steam engine’s quiet and cold
the metal chimes in the howling wind
the boiler’s rusted, whistle cracked
never hear her blow again