Mixolydian song, ¾, easily fingerpicked. Standard tuned guitar

Em D Em D Am G
The stones of the wall sit quiet, at the edge of the factory light
Am Bm Em Amodal Bm
The story they saw is a whisper, passed on a breeze in the night
Em D Em D Am G
The sun, it will rise, the sun it will set, the rivers forever flow on
C Bm Am Bm G D Em
Down from my city of Novocherkassk the Azov is touched by the Don.

From the east to the west we are working to be broke at the end of the week
The language of hunger, the language of sweat, is the tongue every worker can speak
How much like your hands of the market, this game that the bureaucrats play
One on the scale to raise up the prices, the other cuts down on your pay

We rebuilt this town from the ashes, set the iron horse onto the tracks
We carried the weight of each five year plan like an infantry kit on our backs
To build up the world that our parents had dreamed, when they tossed off the Tsar and his yoke
When we walked out on strike, from the train factory- some dam inside of us broke

The orders came down to Shapashnikov, crush the picket line under your guns
He said there’s no enemy here to fight, no battle to be lost or won
When Petrograd rose up, the cossacks stood down, no longer the empire’s pawns
I’m swore to defend this worker’s republic that stands on the banks on the Don

From the factory to the city center, in thousands we marched on our way
The red flags that flew at the head of the band, were bright in the light of the day
As we surged past the bridge on the Tuzlov, the bureaucrats made a retreat
And we took back the buildings, the halls of the people- our Soviet was there in the street 

The sun was high over the city, the June day was sunny and green
When the army pushed into the square, in a line of their armored machines
First a cry for the soldiers to join us- march with us for roses and bread
Then a crack in the air, and a wail of despair, their answer delivered in lead

Silence was over the city, the curfew had muzzled the streets
And silence was over the country, but rumors that spread and repeat
What became of the strike outside Rostov, some dared in a murmur to ask
There are answers not found, and not given in sound, in the tombstones of Novocherkassk

The stones of the wall sit quiet, at the edge of the factory light
The story they saw is a whisper, passed on a breeze in the night
The sun, it will rise, the sun it will set, the rivers forever flow on
Down from my city of Novocherkassk the Azov is touched by the Don.