the family's been here for
|
the last hundred years
|
and it's all that he's ever known
|
life in the cotton fields
|
swamps and the rolling hills
|
always called Arkansas home
|
but when the war came
|
like his father before
|
he joined the army
|
and went to the war
|
leaving the rolling hills
|
swamps and the cotton fields
|
bound for a Normandy shore
|
the patch that he wore on
|
his uniform
|
was both blue and grey
|
the colors of men who died
|
fighting another fight
|
and more would die today
|
at Omaha beach against Germany
|
a young country boy
|
struggled out of the sea
|
up on the sand where
|
many a man
|
would never know victory
|
fought the entire time
|
up on the front line
|
it was lonely, bloody and cold
|
the only relief he'd find
|
might be some old French wine
|
the water was all dirty and froze
|
but he was luckier than some
|
a better soldier than most
|
he came back from Europe
|
but never got home
|
now he's back on the farm
|
but not out of harm
|
he drank so the pain wouldn't show
|
well he left behind
|
my brothers and I
|
we never really knew him at all
|
I barely remember him
|
smoking with a grin
|
but looking mean; standing tall
|
well I can only hope
|
that he wouldn't be ashamed
|
of the man I become
|
and the life that I made
|
and he did the hardest part
|
and lived life with all his heart
|
and I hope I don't let him down
|
|
-----------------
|
The Blue And The Gray
|
| Lucero |
