greybeard
Well-known member
Now the bugles are silent
And there's rust on each sword
And the small band of soldiers...
Lie asleep in the arms of the Lord...
In the southern part of Texas
Near the town of San Antone
Like a statue on his pinto rides a cowboy all alone
And he sees the cattle grazing where a century before
Santa Anna's guns were blazing and the cannons used to roar
And his eyes turn sorta misty
And his heart begins to glow
And he takes his hat off slowly...
To the men of Alamo.
To the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo...
March 6, 1836.
And there's rust on each sword
And the small band of soldiers...
Lie asleep in the arms of the Lord...
In the southern part of Texas
Near the town of San Antone
Like a statue on his pinto rides a cowboy all alone
And he sees the cattle grazing where a century before
Santa Anna's guns were blazing and the cannons used to roar
And his eyes turn sorta misty
And his heart begins to glow
And he takes his hat off slowly...
To the men of Alamo.
To the thirteen days of glory
At the siege of Alamo...
March 6, 1836.