"sons of the texas republic
worn out and luckless young masters of
dust-and-mesquite-covered plains, i can hear you,"
said the bloodthirsty shouts on the radio waves
rising up from the rusted old trucks and mustangs
"a cancer has taken hold deep in our house,
who here among us will defend the south?
gather your courage and live ammunition
and head for the rio grande..."

so they came, dozens of otherwise unnoticed men
armed like they'd never see this world again
eager to defend us all from invasions of poor migrant laborers
and they came, every encampment a flag to display
certain that we would be grateful one day
trustworthy servants dispatching their dangerous prey

oh, for every one fallen, another will come
oh, for every one fallen, we'll give thanks my sons
oh, we'll march like our fathers for all the lost ones,
holy holy

fourteen-year-old pablo aguilar
keeps well ahead of the others
he walks much faster than his older brothers
each one more hardened to all of life's sorrows
than their brother pablo
and they cross, beneath the precious gray light before dawn,
unaware that their fates might be foregone,
their bodies still drenched with rio grande water
they touch texas soil

pablo shouts, urging his brothers to catch up to him
he feels the first morning sun on his skin
when a cloud of dust bursts right where he had just been
and he jumps back in terror
he runs, but the hot lead cuts through him like the blade of a knife
from a high powered rifle worth more than he'd seen in his life
he falls and cries out for his brothers with the last of his marrow

oh, for every one fallen, another will come
oh, for every one fallen, we'll give thanks my sons
oh, we'll march like our fathers for all the lost ones,
holy holy

a man calls for his two sons and lowers his rifle, 
still warm to the touch;
his son's ages are such that if pablo were kin,
he would be right in the middle of them
they dig a short hole and roll his dead body right in
later that night, he says, men,
we are the last of a vanishing kind
like william b. travis did, we draw our lines
to guard the republic from all those inclined to see liberty trampled

he's content, with no thought of what a man's life might be worth,
proud of what he was entitled by birth
their sleeping bags stretched out on the brown earth, 
just as hard as an anvil
and they sleep, by the glow of the stars and the campfire coals;
at daybreak, his younger son's body is cold,
cut through the chest with a long blade that reads 'aguilar' on the handle

oh, for every one fallen, another will come
oh, for every one fallen, we'll give thanks my son
oh, we'll march like our fathers for all the lost ones,
holy holy