You lean your back on a white tiled wall
Where the heavy winter raindrops fall
Your armor plates have a rusted stain
Washing off in the pouring rain
Set down your sword on the concrete floor
You don't have to fight this war no more
The spinning drums make a steady sound
While your heavy iron hits the ground
You watch the shirts turn a soapy grey
While the city washes grief away
A dented helm and a torn red cloak
Waiting for the laundry line to soak
Set down your sword on the concrete floor
You don't have to fight this war no more
The spinning drums make a steady sound
While your heavy iron hits the ground
The humming heat from the dryer vent
Tells a story of a spirit spent
You trade your shield for a plastic chair
With the scent of bleach in the humid air
Set down your sword on the concrete floor
You don't have to fight this war no more
The spinning drums make a steady sound
While your heavy iron hits the ground
The oil on the street is a rainbow oil
Your tired blood has ceased its angry boil
No more banners waving in the gale
Just the humming of a soapy veil
The rain lets go of the midnight street
You feel the warmth on your aching feet
The broadsword rests in a quiet sleep
A promise that you finally can keep
Set down your sword on the concrete floor
You don't have to fight this war no more
The spinning drums make a steady sound
While your heavy iron hits the ground
Let it spin, let it turn.
Let the heavy iron burn.
Humming low, humming deep.
