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Clark Kent Phone Booth
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Little Soldiers
Lonely boy joined the army back in '65
Only wanted to take with him his childhood skies
Lonely boy stole the moonlight from his baby's eyes
Lonely boy held a picture of his old hometown
He's crying on and on and on and on his baby's name
From Saigon swamps to Washington
Wind could hear him say
The guns are speaking their killing language
These words can't clean my blood-stained bandage
My little Harry please, hear your daddy
Throw your tin soldiers there ain't no war games
Lonely boy in 1971 came back home
Voices said “matriculation number 31”
His hair's gone grey with surrendered bodies lyin' dead
His eyes were red for all the blood they saw in Vietnam
He's calling on and on and on his baby's name
The guns are speaking their killing language
These words can't clean my blood-stained bandage
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My little Harry please, hear your daddy
Throw your tin soldiers there ain't no war games
Red tinted postcards from hell around us
He said “rather lose than let those victims mourn at my feet”
There ain't no winners there ain't no medals
He killed a man, then Mr., what's the gain?
The guns are speaking their killing language
These words can't clean my blood-stained bandage
My little Harry please, hear your daddy
Throw your tin soldiers there ain't no war games
Lonely boy tucked the baby up at night in bed
Whispering “Sleep, little Harry,
Your tin soldiers aren't dead”
They aren't dead
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