| C | Am | |
| Many's the hour I've | lain by my window |
| C | Am | |
| and | thought of the people who | carried the burden |
| C | Am | |
| Who | marched in the strange fields in | search of an answers |
| C | Am | G | |
| And | ended their journeys an | unwilling | hero |
| Am | Em | Am | G | |
| Here's a song to | those who are gone with | never a reason | why |
| Em | Am | |
| And a | toast of the wine at the | end of the line |
| D7 | G | |
| And a | toll of the bell for the | next one to die |
| Back in the coal fields of old Harlan county |
| Some talked of the union, some talked of good wages |
| And they lined them up in the dark of the forests |
| And shot them down without asking no questions |
| Here's a song to those who are gone with never a reason why |
| And a toast of the wine to the end of the line |
| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die |
| And over the ocean, to the red Spanish soil |
| came the lincoln brigade with their dreams |
| But they fell in the fire of germany's bombing |
| And they fell 'cause no one would hear their sad warning |
| Here's a song to those who are gone with never a reason why |
| And a toast of the wine at the end of the line |
| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die |
| In old Alabama, in old MississippiTwo states of the union so often found guilty |
| They came on the busses, they came on the marches |
| And they lay in the jails or they fell by the highway |
| Here's a song to those who are gone with never a reason why |
| And a toast of the wine at the end of the line |
| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die |
| The state it was texas, the town it was Dallas |
| In the flash of a rifle a life was soon over |
| And nobody thought of the past million murders |
| And the long list of irony(?) had found a new champion |
| Here's a song to those who are gone with never a reason why |
| And a toast of the wine at the end of the line |
| And a toll of the bell for the next one to die |