(Traditional, arranged by Bob Dylan)
as performed at Orpheum Theatre, Boston, MA, October 9, 1994
Transcribed by CD Pinkerton bobsboots.com
He was just a blue-eyed Boston boy
His voice was low with pain
I'll do your bidding, comrade mine,
If I ride back again.
But if you ride back and I am dead
You'll do as much for me
Mama, you know, must hear the news
So write to her tenderly.
She's a-waitin' at home like a prayin' saint
Her pale face wet with woe
Her heart would be broken if I am gone
I'll see her soon, I know.
Just then an order came to charge
For an instant hand touched hand
"Aye" they said and away they rode
That brave and devoted band
Straight was the track to the top of the hill
Those rebels they shot and shelled
Plowed furroughs of death through the toiling ranks
And guarded them as they fell.
There soon came a horrible dying yell
From heights that they could not gain
And those whom doom and death had spared
Rode slowly down again.
But among the dead that were left on the hill
Was the boy with the curly hair
The tall dark man who fought by his side
Lay dead beside him there.
There was no one to write to the blue-eyed girl
The words that her lover had said
Mama, you know, was awaitin' the news
And she'll only know he's dead.