There are soldiers in this country, with their chins on windowsills
They’re too young to tote a gun, and too old for us to kill.
I’ve seen their eyes in checkout lines, then I wonder where do they go?
The people I see every day in the street
I suppose some of them know.
Now some are the daughters of little girls, or the sons of wicked ones
Long before they ever learn to walk, they’ve gotta learn to run
It wasn’t love but fear that brought them here, so they know no love at all
And they always go to the only home they know
Where the darkest shadows fall.
Now we can cover our ears and close our eyes, what we don’t know we can’t tell
But I wonder anyway how long we’re gonna say, “Oh well, oh well, oh well.”
Now maybe you’re to blame, and maybe you’re not, but have you seen the truth unfold?
It was a Saturday night, there was a terrible fight
Between a father and a 4-year-old.
Eli died with a fist in his eye, whose fist, well it’s hard to say
But his heart was the size of his old man’s eyes, when the doc said, “DOA.”
Eli’s mama never liked the way that his daddy taught him how to sing
How the human mind can get so out of line
Has surely got me wondering.
