Afternoon At The Wall

I rode this bus from Illinois
To see my father’s name inscribed.
The empty eyes and the vacant stares
Maybe none of them survived.
Broken hearts and broken lives - broken bodies rolling by.
Some salute, and some they pray.
Some just close their eyes and cry.
The teardrops hit the pavement and I count them as they fall -
An afternoon at the Wall.
Homeless children dressed in rags -
Sons and daughters in body bags.
Deadly darkness - burning land -
Despair and duty hand in hand.
Hollow anger that never fades -
No hero’s welcome, no parades.
Memories flooding back they wish
They never could recall -
An afternoon at the Wall
Bits and pieces left behind
We try to search but we’ll never find.
Put your fingers on the names and try to trace them all -
An afternoon at the Wall.
Put your fingers on the names and try to trace them all -
An afternoon at the Wall.