Many's the hour I've lain by my window
And thought of the people who carry the burdens
Who marched in the strange fields in search of an answer
And ended their journeys an unwilling hero
So here's a song to those who are gone
With never a reason why
And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
And a toll of the bell for the next one to die
Back in the coal field of old Harlan county
Some talk of a union, some talk of good wages
And they line them up in the dark of the forest
And shot them down without asking no questions
So here's a song to those who are gone
With never a reason why
And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
And a toll of the bell for the next one to die
And over the ocean to the red Spanish soil
Came the Lincoln brigade with their dreams of a victory
But they fell in the fire of Germany's bombings
And they feel 'cus nobody would hear their sad warning
So here's a song to those who are gone
With never a reason why
And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
And a toll of the bell for the next one to die
I'm old Alabama, old Mississippi
Two states of the union so often found guilty
They came on the busses, came on the marches
And they lay in the jails, or they fell by the highway
So here's a song to those who are gone
With never a reason why
And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
And a toll of the bell for the next one to die
The state it was Texas, town it was Dallas
In the flash of a rifle, life was soon over
And nobody thought of the past million murders
And the long list of irony had found a new champion
So here's a song to those who are gone
With never a reason why
And a toast of the wine at the end of the line
And a toll of the bell for the next one to die