I've just come back from the war.

I'm angry and tired and bored.

Scarred by the things that I saw --

Still don't feel like I'm home.

Don't want to go back, don't want to stay.

I'm still waiting for the big parade.

Just before dawn --

doesn't feel like last fall...

feels like a friend I've lost touch with

who I'd hoped wouldn't call --

blankets and clothes and pictures of wives,

the glow of the burning

they saw from the sky...

When I woke up, all swaddled in white

I wanted my Mother

wanted her to tell me why I was alive

I'd write every night just before bed.

For a while there I stopped.

Did you think I was dead?

The truth of it is, I was just scared.

Scared to come back, I wanted to stay.

I'm still waiting for the big parade.