05-27-2012, 05:14 PM
http://www.usmemorialday.org/backgrnd.html
Freedom Isn't Free
David Wills
She stands in their door with a dishtowel in her hand
Looking past the farms or the woods or the sea.
She's searching for her laddie that the war has made a man.
She's the daughter or the sister or the mother-to-be,
She's the orphan of the battle, she's the mother of our land,
And she knows what she's given for us all to be free.
Freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it,
It's bought with their sweat and their pain and their fear.
A grandma or an aunt is sitting, rocking in her chair
Near the fire in a cottage, with her Bible by her side.
She's thinking of a picnic and a boy with tousled hair
How he fell from that tree, skinned his knee and how he cried.
She was at his band recitals, at graduation she was there,
And she was sitting, rocking, praying at the moment that he died.
No, freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it
It's bought with the blood of the ones we hold dear.
By a tree in the valley, or a crater sudden found
His hands still grip his weapon as he stares into the sky.
And those who've come to carry him can't muster up a sound,
For though he fought bravely, they weep and wonder why
It's their comrade they're carrying, not themselves on the ground.
There's no glory left in valor of the ones who had to die.
You know, freedom isn't free for those who have to buy it,
And only those who have lost it know its value full clear.
Freedom Isn't Free
David Wills
She stands in their door with a dishtowel in her hand
Looking past the farms or the woods or the sea.
She's searching for her laddie that the war has made a man.
She's the daughter or the sister or the mother-to-be,
She's the orphan of the battle, she's the mother of our land,
And she knows what she's given for us all to be free.
Freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it,
It's bought with their sweat and their pain and their fear.
A grandma or an aunt is sitting, rocking in her chair
Near the fire in a cottage, with her Bible by her side.
She's thinking of a picnic and a boy with tousled hair
How he fell from that tree, skinned his knee and how he cried.
She was at his band recitals, at graduation she was there,
And she was sitting, rocking, praying at the moment that he died.
No, freedom isn't free to those who have to buy it
It's bought with the blood of the ones we hold dear.
By a tree in the valley, or a crater sudden found
His hands still grip his weapon as he stares into the sky.
And those who've come to carry him can't muster up a sound,
For though he fought bravely, they weep and wonder why
It's their comrade they're carrying, not themselves on the ground.
There's no glory left in valor of the ones who had to die.
You know, freedom isn't free for those who have to buy it,
And only those who have lost it know its value full clear.
M. Demetrius Abicio
(David Wills)
Saepe veritas est dura.
(David Wills)
Saepe veritas est dura.