The first time it was fathers
the last time it was sons
and in between your husbands
marched away with drums and guns
and you never though to question
You just went on with your lives
Cause all they taught you
who to be was mother's daughters wives.
You can only just remember the tears your mothers shed
as they sit and read the papers
to the lists and lists of dead
and the door frames held the photographs
that mothers kissed each night
and the door frames held the shocked and silent strangters from the fight
It was twenty five years later
with children of their own
the trumpets sounded once again
the soldier boys were gone
and you drove their trucks
and made t he guns and tended to their wounds
and at night you kissed the photograpsh
and prayed for safe returns
and after it was over you have to learn again
to be just wives and mothers
when you've done the work of men
so you wroked to help the needy
and you never trodd on toes
And the photos on the pianos
struck a happy family pose
Then young daughters grow to women
and your little boys to men
and you prayed that you were dreaming
wjem the call-up came again
But you proudly smiled and held your tears
as they bravely waved goodbye
andthe phtos on the mantelpieces always
made you cry
and now you're getting older
and in time the photos fade
and in widowhood you sit back
and reflect on your parade
And the passing of your memories
as your daughters change their lives
Seeing more to our assistants than
just mothers, daughters, wives.
and you believed them.

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