Momma, the guns are silent now
For a little while,
I\'ll rest behind this wall,
Rifle cocked and ready
Sand and wind blow my mind,
Sun burns through my soul.
Merry Christmas Momma,
Is it snowing yet?
Sick of bagging dead,
bodies, so many bodies.
Kids yelling all the time,
Yankee, GO HOME.
I wish I was a child again,
Playing in the snow.
I miss my Momma\'s smile,
Take me home Lord, Take me home.