Richard D. Preston

EVERY MOTHER’S SON

Stepped out on the tarmac, a young man of twenty one
No one there to greet us, no not a single one
We stood there in formation forgotten by our own
God I never felt so all alone

We were swallowed up in the jungle, lived from day to day
Forgotten by our country; there were no welcome home parades
Dusty hot and tired, we just stared down at the ground
Heat rose from the tar, not a loved one could be found

The outcasts of the nation, children grown to men
The smell of war upon us, blood upon our hands
Red clay in our pours, and a blank look in our eyes
For this we returned home, for this my Brothers died

Thoughts drift back to those days, time and time again
Years have passed and I’m still thinking, about my long lost friends
We who made it back, are remembered by our own
The rest of us are remembered, etched upon black Granite stone

We have wars that we’re still fighting, young Americans still at war
And every day now some return, through a cargo planes open door
Flags draped over silver coffins, and some broken Mother cries
And every time we see this, something inside us dies

God Bless all of our troops, who give it all each day
We will stand beside you always, pray when you’re away
When you return well welcome you, you will never stand-alone
Until the day we can say, every Mother’s Son is home