Drink to our demolished home Wher loss resides alone Like a widow by the radio Child, childhood 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.
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