Two days past eighteen,
He was waiting for the bus in his army green.
Sat down in a booth in a cafe there,
Gave his order to a girl with a bow in her hair.
He's a little shy so she gives him a smile,
And he said would you mind sittin' down for a while,
And talking to me,
I'm feeling a little low.
She said I'm off in an hour and I know where we can go.

So they went down and they sat on the pier.
He said I bet you've got a boyfriend but I don't care,
I got no one to send a letter to.
Would you mind if I sent one back here to you?

I cried,
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy.
Too young for him they told her,
Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier.
Our love will never end,
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again.
Never more to be alone when the letter said,
A soldier's coming home.

So the letters came from an army camp,
From California then Vietnam,
And he told her of his heart,
It might be love and all of the things he was so scared of.
He said when it's getting kinda rough over here,
I think of that day sittin' down at the pier,
And I close my eyes and see your pretty smile.
Don't worry but I won't be able to write for awhile.

One Friday night at a football game,
The Lord's Prayer said and the Anthem sang,
A man said folks would you bow your heads,
For a list of local, Vietnam dead.
Crying all alone under the stands,
Was a piccolo player in the marching band,
And one name read, but nobody really cared,
But a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair.



This song.
This mother fucking song.
Tears my heart, into itty bitty mother fucking pieces.
I don't even know why I've listened to it so many fucking times.
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK.

That one name, WON'T be read.
Because that one name, IS coming home.