Drink to our demolished home

Wher loss resides alone

Like a widow by the radio

Childchildhood is a place

Where sorrow comes of age

A widow by the radio



Try to understand

I couldn't hold your hand

I couldn't even hold a gun

Surely we could find

A reason or a sign

That everything's not gone for good



Autumn whispers through the trees

Cheap things to her and me

But patience wears a uniform

Nature take care of your sons

I think they have become

The darlings of the universe



Try to understand

I couldn't hold your hand

I couldn't even hold a gun

Surely we could hide

A reason or a sigh

That everything is gone for good.