March

"A Daughter Born the Day They Walked the Moon
 Somewhere On the Edge of the Age of Aquarius
 In the Year Her Mother
 Would Have Otherwise Forgotten
 July Was Very Hot in North Carolina
 So She Left For Buffalo On a Bus in the Rain
 With the Steam Off the Asphalt Still Wet in Her Hair
 And the Pain of Her Soldier Gone
 Just Sailed Away
 Before He Was a Soldier, He Was Just His Mother's Boy
 And That's Exaclty How She Planned to Keep Him
 His Father Died So Long Ago and He Was All She Had
 Still She Shared His Love With a Very Young Wife
 And Before the War Things Weren't So Bad
 But Every Generation Makes the Same Mistakes
 And Still They Send Their Sons Away to do the Same
 The Mothers Cry and the Daughters Die Inside
 And the Sons Like the Fathers
 March
 Whose Hair Was Longer? I Think His, She Might Say
 But in the Army They Cut It All Away
 Too Much Room For Wild Thoughts to Grow
 And in the Spring of His Child's First Year
 The Father, Hey the Son, the Husband
 Under Beautiful Sky, Youth Like Fire in His Eyes
 He Gave His Life For Nothin'
 No, Nothin' At All, They Said
 So Many Years and the Pain It Still Remains
 And Now Her Daughter's Man Will Sail Away
 Politics and Promises Forever the Same
 We Take Away and Sacrifice What We Cannot Replace
 And Every Generation Makes the Same Mistakes
 And Still They Send Their Sons Away to do the Same
 And the Mothers Cry and the Daughters Die Inside
 And the Sons Like the Fathers
 Now the Sons and the Daughters
 March
 Buffalo in the Winter, Bitter As It Is
 Is Home For Three Generations of Widowed Brides"