Intheglory

in the glory of the war, she sent her son off to war you know
like his father went before, and like his father before him
like the stories that they told, and like the ones they never did, she said,
'some things they just go on', some thing is going on again

and she knew she would be brave, and she knew and yes she knew that she'd be brave for him
so that when they said goodbye, there'd be tears but she would smile and wave

in the glory of the war, day came her son was off to war and she
could not help but be afraid, though the news was 'fighting's going well'
then he sent a letter home, so she knew that he was still alive, but then
that was when he wrote it down, what could have happened since then?

and in all the songs she knew, she sent her sons off to war and they
they were never coming home, they were lost so they never should have gone,
or she dreamed there was a train, carrying her son with no face or no legs, and she,
she saw it was a shame, such a fine boy ruined by the war

but the war it did not last, the enemy couldn't touch our boys, and yes,
and yes it was over fast, and yes her son was coming home
and maybe she was proud, no really she's just glad that he's alive,
and to see his face again, oh lord to see him smile

and when he got off the train, two arms, two legs, two eyes to see she said,
'my son, and you are whole, and I'm so glad to see you now', she said,
'for you know I was afraid that you'd be never coming home, or no,
coming home without your legs, and I'm so glad to see you now'

          he said, 'somewhere I'm so glad to see you,
          and somewhere I can't say I'll be glad again
          for you know that I'd be a good man,
          I'd be a good man, but oh, where I've been
          and I hope I'll marry my sweetheart,
          and I hope I'll play with my kids
          and never push a button that blows off their legs,
          and never pull a trigger that shoots their daddy dead'

in the glory of the war, we send our sons off to war and then,
then we hope that they return, well sure we love our own sons and then,
print a picture of our dead, each newsprint face below the flag and then,
then never mind the rest, count a thousand, hundred thousand then forget

in the glory of the war, turn your face to the ones you never saw before
think of someone else's son, if our son kills him do we win?