In the filtered orange light,
Through the canopy of leaves,
I found him laying in the street,
On a Boston summer’s night
Don’ t you try to make me stand
Don’t you take a soldier’s pride
Well I’m a stranger to my child
And an orphan to my land
Well I looked him up and down
I couldn’t find a pool of blood
Just a picture in the mud
Someone in a wedding gown
And he loosely held a phone
As he stared into that sky
Well I keep giving her a try
But I can’t bear that ringing tone
Oh Selene, if you could know
How that worn-out picture glows
I’m so afraid, when I come home
That you won’t
Said he spent those desert fights
Writing letters in his head
Words that never would be read
By some figment of his wife
Now he can’t escape the thought
Of her reading in his lines
The departure of his mind
In the landing of his shots
Oh Selene, if you could know
How that worn-out picture glows
I’m so afraid, when I come home
That you won’t