She can barely sleep at night,
She worries all day long,
For Amreica her sons must fight,
And for them she must be strong.
"this is war", she states with a cold stone face,
But still the upstairs hall is where she'll do her nightly pace.

She lost her husband in Desert Storm,
And thought she could die right there and then.
She may have lost her man in uniform,
But doesn't want to go through it again.
"This is war", she says controlling her trembling face,
But still the upstairs hall is where she'll do her nightly pace.

She remembers when they used toy guns,
When they played army in the tall grass.
But now they fier ral ones,
unloading their lead for some brass.
"This is war", she mumbles, a tear rollong down her face,
But still the upstairs is where she'll do her nightly pace.

For now all three sons are "well and doing fine",
And for her that is a glimmer of sunshine.
For now she is spared deep sorrow,
But that could change sooner than tomorrow.
"That is war", she whispers, tears rushing down her face,
And still the upstairs hall is where she'll do her nighlty pace.