(Richard Thompson) 



Carrie ran a murderous crew 

Dedicated through and through 

And the chance to prove 

They never squandered 

And they liked to kill so clean 

Save the innocent, kill the mean 

But from time to time, 

A bullet wandered 



Carrie kept her souvenirs 

Kept her scrapbook down the years 

Of her brave boys, how she cried to read it 

And a few fell by the way 

Or lost the stomach for the fray 

So young blood was always needed 



Carrie noticed him right away 

The way his whole body would sway 

Like a trawler boy 

Finding his legs ashore 

They said he was just nineteen 

A head case but his record was clean 

Just the kind 

They were looking for 



Carrie watched him through the crack 

As they teased him behind his back 

They called him Little Joe 

'Cos he scraped the ceiling 

And when he was the worse for wear 

She took him up the stair 

And soon he fell 

For her brand of healing 



She said, I'll lie like a rose on your pillow 

Let me twine the laurel in your hair 

I want to smell my love on your fingers 



If you want to be mine, Little Joe 

You must harden your mind, Little Joe 

We've got to fight for what is ours 

Bring peace to the grave of my brother 

Bring peace to the grave of my father 

Dry the old eyes of my mother 

Little Joe 



There's a roadblock down the way 

Thick with soldiers night and day 

They'll hear the noise 

All the way to Glengarry 

If you show you've got the stuff 

That you're sworn and brave enough 

Then you'll stand tall 

In the eyes of your Carrie 



And I will lie like a rose on your pillow 

And I'll twine the laurel in your hair 

I want to smell revenge on your fingers 



Guns are the Tongues, Little Joe 

The only words we know 

The only sound that'll reach their ears 

Bring peace to the grave of my brother 

Bring peace to the grave of my father 

Dry the old eyes of my mother 

Little Joe 



Now Little Joe would've jumped clear 

But for the awful fear 

Of scraping his knees there on the gravel 

The car was a rolling bomb 

Blew all to Kingdom Come 

They marvelled how far 

His boots had travelled 



Another hero snatched from my pillow 

I used to twine the laurel in his hair 

I want to smell sacrifice on my fingers 



Guns are the Tongues, Little Joe 

The only words we know 

The only sound that'll reach their ears 

Bring peace to the grave of my brother 

Bring peace to the grave of my father 

Dry the old eyes of my mother 

Little Joe