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.