 Davey, blue cornet, and a jute joined by the tracks. In 17 we joined the war, he volunteered to fight in France. In his shoes at 5-2 they wouldn't let him in the infantry. So he played taps for the boys each night. And it don't wake him up, he reveled. No glory words or stories heard about a war to end all. A soldier without a gun, always ashore. He's a man with a brass cornet. Now Davey came back from France, but he weighs a cornet. Making babies stand in music, never spoke of regrets. Works a union life, loves his kids and wife, can talk much about the war. Just a bugler, that's all he'd say. Watch your kids in the yard, content with his life. His family, his favorite cigar. No glory words or stories heard about a war to end all. A soldier without a gun. He died, we gather inside. The sort through wasn't all that was true, what changed everything. Paper, he spent his time on the front lines with a red crawl. Carried the wounded, this man with the brass. No glory words or stories heard about a war to end all.