Oh, the ages.
I remember quite freely.
No younger than twelve, no older than seventeen.
Thrown in like bandits and cast off like criminals.
All inside the walls, the walls of Red Wing.
Down the dirty old mess hall,
you march to the brick wall.
Too weary to talk and too tired to sing.
And it's old afternoon, you remember your
hometown.
From inside the walls, the walls of Red Wing.
Oh, the gates are cast iron and
the walls are barbed wire.
Stay far from the fence with electricity sting.
And it's keep
down your head and stay in your number.
All inside the walls, the walls of Red Wing.
It's many a guard that stands around smiling.
Carrying his club like he was a king.
Hoping
to get you behind the wood piling.
All inside the walls, the walls of Red Wing.
As the rain rattled heavy on the bunkhouse shingles.
And the sounds in the night,
they made my ears ring.
Till the keys of the guards clicked the tune of the morning.
All inside the walls, the walls of Red Wing.
As the night aimed shadows through the cross by
windows.
And the wind punched hard to make the wall siding sing.
It's many a night I
pretended to be asleep in.
All inside the walls, the walls of Red Wing.
Oh, some of
us will wind up in old St. Cloud prison.
And some of us will wind up to be lawyers and things.
And some of us will end up to meet you on your crossroads.
From inside the walls, the walls of Red Wing.