| He never closed his eyes
|
| Or so we theorized
|
| But we were young and bold
|
| And he was mostly old
|
| And his time nearly done
|
| He came back from a war
|
| On some forgotten shore
|
| And sat and watched the world
|
| And never said a word
|
| And so I asked for one
|
| Watching waiting
|
| Old man tell me what have we become
|
| Anticipating
|
| All the hating that was yet undone
|
| He turned around and stared into the sun
|
| He fought for things so clear
|
| And never thought he’d fear
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| A brother or his child
|
| Or killing having style
|
| Watch the colors run
|
| Watching waiting
|
| Old man tell me what have we become
|
| Anticipating
|
| All the hating that was yet undone
|
| He turned around and stared into the sun
|
| And now he only hears
|
| And his eyes they only tear |