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.