Cut the Hay

“Cut the Hay” — a 1960s-style war protest song for more modern times A radio cut for shorter attention spans. A director’s cut for me. Radio cut follows: A coward dies a thousand deaths, A brave man only one. My mother thought me foolish— A simpleton, a dunce. But I’d rather die a thousand deaths Than bravely fade away. My brother was her favourite, Much braver than was I. He died his single death quite young; Now I’m older than he’ll ever be. Our country came a-calling To set a people free. Which people, and from whom, Was not explained to me. They flew him halfway round the world And taught him to obey, For when you seek a needle, You have to cut the hay. [Chorus] Cut the hay, cut the hay— The needle hides away. The fault is theirs, not yours, my boy; A brave man must obey. Cut the hay and burn the field, Then kneel awhile and pray— For when you seek a needle, You have to cut the hay. [Verse 2] He killed the people he was told Were hiding out of sight. He never saw their faces, So perhaps that made it right. Women, children, workmen too, Were gathered with the hay. But what else could soldiers do When cowards hid away? My brother died in that far land— An accident, I’m told... [Bridge] A brave boy mistook him for the needle And cut him with the hay. [Verse 3] He felt bad—but afterwards Fought harder the next day. I wonder what my brother says To those he could not see— The women and the workmen, The children and the enemy. Do they speak of flags and freedom? Do they still know who was right? Or do they share their stories Where no brave men have to fight? [Verse 4] I know I’d never have been brave, Resilient or tough. I might have doubted every word; I could not hate enough. So if a coward dies a thousand deaths, A coward I must stay— For I die a little every night Thinking how he passed away. [Final Chorus] Cut the hay, cut the hay— Then turn your eyes away. The fault is theirs, not yours, my boy; You only must obey. A brave man dies but once, they say, Then leaves the price to pay— While cowards, mothers, enemies Die a little every day.