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Video: Wootton Bassett Town - Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull)

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Ian Anderson and Bob Morris

COL (Ret) Bob Morris, Global Campaign against IEDs, and Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull

This video is made possible by the generosity of Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull) who allowed us the use of his song Wootton Bassett Town from his Thick as a Brick 2 Album.

Wootton Bassett Town is the community in England where military personnel killed in the line of duty are repatriated.  The story of this town’s actions in honoring the fallen sets anexample for us all.

Mr. Anderson directly addresses the global threat posed by Improvised Explosive Devices (IEDs) in his music. We hope others will follow his example.  Please reach out to other members of the entertainment industry and encourage them to support similar projects using their music or art.  If you have a video or images to contribute, please contact the Global Campaign at: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

All art used in the video are original creations of military veterans who know the horrors of IEDs first-hand.  Please support their efforts through their websites at:
[ http://www.fineartamerica.com/profiles/michael-figueroa.html 
[ http://www.fineartamerica.com/art/all/Brian+Rock/all
 

We hope you will support our efforts by making a donation to continue our work at:
http://www.campaignagainstieds.org/donation.html 

 

WOOTTON BASSETT TOWN

(Music and Lyrics by Ian Anderson)

Hourglass sands run through my veins like blood draining from a salty wound.
Mad Mars forgets the cost of strife, serves no longer, purpose in my life.
I lie in sweat, cry others' tears and write a letter to my Mum,
My wife, my God unheard, unseen, Who never thinks to intervene.

Oh, what pain and oh, what lie has called to us, from heaven on high?
This cruel and harsh sweet punishment for follies acted, leaves us spent.
Long road to Baghdad, then Persian hordes?
Where will we stop to sheath our swords?
IEDs lie patient, sleeping, wake when soldier boots come creeping.

Hourglass sands run through my veins like blood draining from a salty wound.
Mad Mars forgets the cost of strife, serves no longer, purpose in my life.
Down this dusty scorched wind-blast track, eyes facing forward, ne'er look back.
As rain comes down on Wootton Bassett Town, black hearses crawl and church bells sound.


Bikers, burghers line the kerbs; a politician, a Highness Royal.
Chance shoppers, tradesmen, stiffly stand and shed their tears for the military man.