Weathered statues, tin soldiers that march in our parks
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Wrapped in yellowed newsprint, on their benches in the dark
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Faces fill with sadness, sorrow drawn from your nights
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Surviving on old glories but now the glory's have died
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Lonely men who are tortured, once proud but now forgotten
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Gnarled hands hold canes, where guns were once before
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Taunted by the children whose parent's lives he saved
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Forgotten by a state, whose leg in war he gave
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Silver gleams upon his chest, though sweat gleams on his brow
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Darker days and sable nights, who work upon his soul
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His honor flew away from him, like pigeons on the wind
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Spending his last pennies on cheap wine and sins
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But still they make the soldiers
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And soldiers still grow old
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Another day, another statue, falls out in the dawn
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Weathered Statues stil march on and on
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Weathered Statues
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| T.S.O.L. (TSOL) |
