| Patiently she stares down the runway
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| Today’s the day that he is coming home
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| Seems like he’s been gone a lifetime
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| And a lifetime is a long time to be gone
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| But there are songs that need singing
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| And there are things that must be done
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| There are thoughts that still need thinking
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| And there are wars that must be won
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| He was just a boy when they sent for him
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| And overnight turned him into a man
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| Proudly he had served his country
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| In a war he didn’t seem to understand
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| The flag still waves, his war is over
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| He’ll never have to kill again
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| And as she waits, she thinks it over
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| Is winning worth the prize we pay to win?
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| Her thoughts keep wandering to his childhood
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| When all his hand grenades were merely toys
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| And «war» was just a game that he was playing
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| With plastic guns like other little boys
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| And every day when play was over
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| He’d put his little toys away
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| And she’d be standing, waiting for him
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| The way she’s waiting here today
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| As the plane stops she starts thinking
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| Will he still look the way he did before?
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| Or will his eyes reflect the pain of killing
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| Like most young men when they come home from war?
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| These last few minutes seem like hours
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| She tries her best not to cry
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| But there’s that hearse filled up with flowers
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| Did he really have to die?
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| No, no, no, no |