I've just come back from the war.   I'm angry and tired and bored.   Scarred by the things that I saw --   Still don't feel like I'm home.   Don't want to go back, don't want to stay.   I'm still waiting for the big parade.   Just before dawn --   doesn't feel like last fall...   feels like a friend I've lost touch with   who I'd hoped wouldn't call --   blankets and clothes and pictures of wives,   the glow of the burning   they saw from the sky...   When I woke up, all swaddled in white   I wanted my Mother   wanted her to tell me why I was alive   I'd write every night just before bed.   For a while there I stopped.   Did you think I was dead?   The truth of it is, I was just scared.   Scared to come back, I wanted to stay.   I'm still waiting for the big parade.