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THESE COLORS DON'T RUN !
It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has
given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given
us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who
has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, not the lawyer, who has given
us the right to a fair trial.
It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who
serves under the flag, and whose coffin is draped
by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.
A protest raged on a courthouse lawn
Round a makeshift stage, they charged on.
Fifteen hundred or more, they say,
Had come to burn a flag that day.
A boy held up the folded flag,
Cursed it, and called it a dirty rag.
An OLD MAN pushed through the angry crowd
With a rusty shotgun shouldered, proud.
His uniform jacket was old and tight.
He had polished each button, shiny and bright. He crossed that stage with a soldier's grace, Until he and the boy stood face to face.
"FREEDOM OF SPEECH," the OLD MAN said,
"Is worth dying for. Good men are dead
So you can stand on this courthouse lawn
And talk us down from dusk to dawn.
But before any flag gets burned today,
This OLD MAN WILL HAVE HIS SAY!"
"My father died on a foreign shore,
In a war they said would end all war.
But Tommy and I were not full grown
Before we fought in a war of our own.
And Tommy died on Iwo Jima's beach,
In the shadow of a hill he couldn't quite reach, Where five good men raised this flag so high. "That the WHOLE DAMN WORLD COULD SEE IT FLY."
"I got this bum leg, that I still drag,
Fighting for this same old flag.
Now there's but one shot in this old gun,
So now it's time to decide which one.
Which one of you will follow our lead
To stand and die for what you believe?
For as sure as there is a rising sun,
You'll burn in hell 'fore this flag burns, Son."
Now that riot never came to pass.
The crowd got quiet, and that can of gas
Got set aside as they walked away
To talk about what they heard that day.
And the boy who had called it a "dirty rag"
Handed the OLD SOLDIER the folded flag.
So the battle of the flag that day was won
By a tired OLD SOLDIER with a rusty gun
Who, for one last time, had shown to some,
THIS FLAG MAY FADE, BUT THESE COLORS DON'T RUN
It is the soldier, not the reporter, who has
given us freedom of the press.
It is the soldier, not the poet, who has given
us freedom of speech.
It is the soldier, not the campus organizer, who
has given us the freedom to demonstrate.
It is the soldier, not the lawyer, who has given
us the right to a fair trial.
It is the soldier, who salutes the flag, who
serves under the flag, and whose coffin is draped
by the flag, who allows the protester to burn the flag.
A protest raged on a courthouse lawn
Round a makeshift stage, they charged on.
Fifteen hundred or more, they say,
Had come to burn a flag that day.
A boy held up the folded flag,
Cursed it, and called it a dirty rag.
An OLD MAN pushed through the angry crowd
With a rusty shotgun shouldered, proud.
His uniform jacket was old and tight.
He had polished each button, shiny and bright. He crossed that stage with a soldier's grace, Until he and the boy stood face to face.
"FREEDOM OF SPEECH," the OLD MAN said,
"Is worth dying for. Good men are dead
So you can stand on this courthouse lawn
And talk us down from dusk to dawn.
But before any flag gets burned today,
This OLD MAN WILL HAVE HIS SAY!"
"My father died on a foreign shore,
In a war they said would end all war.
But Tommy and I were not full grown
Before we fought in a war of our own.
And Tommy died on Iwo Jima's beach,
In the shadow of a hill he couldn't quite reach, Where five good men raised this flag so high. "That the WHOLE DAMN WORLD COULD SEE IT FLY."
"I got this bum leg, that I still drag,
Fighting for this same old flag.
Now there's but one shot in this old gun,
So now it's time to decide which one.
Which one of you will follow our lead
To stand and die for what you believe?
For as sure as there is a rising sun,
You'll burn in hell 'fore this flag burns, Son."
Now that riot never came to pass.
The crowd got quiet, and that can of gas
Got set aside as they walked away
To talk about what they heard that day.
And the boy who had called it a "dirty rag"
Handed the OLD SOLDIER the folded flag.
So the battle of the flag that day was won
By a tired OLD SOLDIER with a rusty gun
Who, for one last time, had shown to some,
THIS FLAG MAY FADE, BUT THESE COLORS DON'T RUN
