Oldest Living Son
Written by John Stewart

Sycamores grow, in their long planted rows
out there to break the April wind.
Still the dust it always blows, in our eyes and in our clothes,
and it's in our very soul.
Like the song about me and Jim...

Back of my hand, started looking like a man's
way back when I was only ten,
but the lonesome in me cries, like a little boy somehow.
You can hear it scream when it comes out screaming like the wind.

Chorus:
Me and Jim gettin' thin, oh fare thee well to him.
Fare thee well now momma, I'm gonna take good care of him.
Me and Jim gettin' thin, oh fare thee well to him,
but there ain't no where to run for the oldest living son.

Spoken:
Now our dad was a gentleman, when we worked at the store.
The only time we saw him mad was when he talked about the war.
We lost a boy at bellau wood and I guess he never understood...

...what the medals from the president where for.
(chorus)