Clark Kent Phone Booth - Little Soldiers Lyrics
Only wanted to take with him his childhood skiesLonely boy stole the moonlight from his baby’s eyesLonely boy held a picture of his old hometownHe’s crying on and on and on and on his baby’s nameFrom Saigon swamps to WashingtonWind could hear him sayThe guns are speaking their killing languageThese words can’t clean my blood-stained bandageMy little Harry please, hear your daddyThrow your tin soldiers there ain’t no war gamesLonely boy in 1971 came back homeVoices said “matriculation number 31”His hair’s gone grey with surrendered bodies lyin’ deadHis eyes were red for all the blood they saw in VietnamHe’s calling on and on and on his baby’s nameThe guns are speaking their killing languageThese words can’t clean my blood-stained bandageMy little Harry please, hear your daddyThrow your tin soldiers there ain’t no war gamesRed tinted postcards from hell around usHe said “rather lose than let those victims mourn at my feet”There ain’t no winners there ain’t no medalsHe killed a man, then Mr., what’s the gain?The guns are speaking their killing languageThese words can’t clean my blood-stained bandageMy little Harry please, hear your daddyThrow your tin soldiers there ain’t no war gamesLonely boy tucked the baby up at night in bedWhispering “Sleep, little Harry,Your tin soldiers aren’t dead”They aren’t dead
