Thurles Information

Sam Stone.

Lyrics and Vocals: American country folk singer/songwriter and guitarist, the late John Prine (1946 – 2020).

The late John Prine.

“Sam Stone” is ultimately about the hidden cost of war; not glory, not victory. A soldier comes home alive, but not whole, and his pain turns into addiction, family suffering, and finally death. The author, the late John Prine, uses Sam’s story to show how veterans can be praised for their service, yet still be left alone to deal with trauma and dependence, once they return home, making the song both a personal tragedy and a quiet anti-war statement.
The line about Jesus Christ, expresses Sam’s feeling that sacrifice, patriotism, religion, and public ideals have failed to save him.

Sam Stone.

Sam Stone.

Sam Stone came home,
To his wife and family,
After serving in the conflict overseas.
And the time that he served,
Had shattered all his nerves,
And left a little shrapnel in his knees.
But the morphine eased the pain,
And the grass grew round his brain,
And gave him all the confidence he lacked.
With a purple heart and a monkey on his back,
There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don’t stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios, (mmhmm).
Sam Stone’s welcome home,
Didn’t last too long.
He went to work when he’d spent his last dime,
And Sammy took to stealing,
When he got that empty feeling,
For a hundred dollar habit without overtime.
And the gold rolled through his veins,
Like a thousand railroad trains,
And eased his mind in the hours that he chose,
While the kids ran around wearin’ other peoples’ clothes.
There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don’t stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios, (mmhmm).
Sam Stone was alone,
When he popped his last balloon,
Climbing walls while sitting in a chair.
Well, he played his last request,
While the room smelled just like death.
With an overdose hovering in the air.
But life had lost its fun,
There was nothing to be done,
But trade his house that he bought on the GI bill,
For a flag-draped casket on a local hero’s hill.
There’s a hole in Daddy’s arm where all the money goes,
Jesus Christ died for nothin’ I suppose.
Little pitchers have big ears,
Don’t stop to count the years,
Sweet songs never last too long on broken radios, (mmhmm).

END.