Ian The Grim
Copyright ©1979 by Clif Flynt- All Rights Reserved
Lyrics posted with permission of the Author
Ian the Grim had no conscience nor heart,
They called him a true man of war.
He walked out alone, where the battle'd been fought.
Out walking 'midst blood and 'midst gore.
Releasing the wounded and stripping the dead
As he had done oft times before.
Now, Ian the Grim, he had only one friend,
A man he had known long before
He'd learned of the battles, the drinking of gin.
And learned that all women are whores.
And together they'd walk through the woods gold and green
Speak of the things that they'd known and they'd seen.
And of what they had lost, If it ever had been.
And if ever they'd lose any more.
Now, Ian the Grim and his friend shared a dog,
For longer than either recalled.
They'd found it, a puppy, and half scared to death.
Half buried in a blood spattered wall.
And they'd raised it to health as the soldiers will do
In a cradle they'd made from a dead farmers shoe.
Raised it and trained it as best as they knew.
And it cheered them as best it knew how.
And that dog travelled with them wherever they'd go
Be it bivouac, country, or town.
And Ian would smile at the tricks the dog knew,
That dog never saw Ian frown.
But they'd leave it behind when they went into war,
Not let it see what it lived through before,
The screaming and dieing, the blood and the gore,
And Ian's face creased with a frown.
The battle was over, Ian walked out alone,
Looking for faces he knew.
He saw his old friend lying right next to death,
And he cried for he knew what he'd do.
For there never was hope for the wounded like these.
If their wounds didn't kill them they died from disease.
Death was a mercy. They'd earned their release.
And he did what a soldier must do.
But, unable he was to continue his rounds,
Though he never had faltered before.
He trudged weary footsteps away back to town.
A trailing the blood and the gore.
And he went to his tent, for the dog waited there,
And he looked for the joy that he now could not share.
And he opened that tent, and he found it was bare.
There was nothing but a gnawed away cord.
Now, back to the battlefield Ian did run,
He ran like he'd ne'er run before,
A'following a howling that he alone heard,
Like a howling from Hell's open door.
And he followed that trail though he'd known it would end
At the blood spattered body that had once been his friend.
And the dog raised its head and it howled once again.
And Ian just stopped and he swore.
The dog raised it's head and it cried once again,
In a voice that was fitful and small.
It cried of the anguish, the wounds, and the pain,
And of puppies half-buried in walls.
And it cried for it's master who lay by it dead.
And it howled for the bloods that its masters had shed.
Red badges it shared with those wounded and dead.
Toward Ian it started to crawl.
Now Ian sank down with a whimper and cry,
His head sinking down to his palms,
And he raised up his face and his hands to the sky,
Like a beggarman asking for alms.
And the dog hobbled on on the three legs it had.
It whimpered to see him as though it were glad
At finding it's saviour, the one friend it had.
And it lay down its head in his arms.
The dog coughed up blood as it lapped Ian's hand,
Content now its master was nigh.
For Ian had saved the dog's life once before,
The dog knew he'd not let him die.
And Ian gazed up at the clouds in the sky,
Silently screaming and asking them why,
But, the clouds, ever silent, they make no reply.
And he then helped his last friend to die.
Now, Ian the Grim has no conscience nor heart,
They call him a true man of war.
He walks out alone where the battle's been fought,
Alone, amidst blood and 'midst gore.
Releasing the wounded and stripping the dead.
As he has done oft times before.