Come lay your weapons down, my son,
the battle's through, the race is run,
and you've done all that you can do.
Your verse is sung, your part is through,
the need to wield your fire is done.

Behold, the setting of the sun,
as ushered in on smoking gun.
Your heart, in battle, remained true,
Come lay your weapons down.

A life of blood and tears now shun,
grant no more thought to either one.
Your world was always set askew,
and vicious when twas through with you.
Yet, you fought til it was done.
Come lay your weapons down.