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“They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!”
| The day our flagpole was ready, We had no flag to fly A mother stepped forward and said I have a flag with a tear in her eye It was given to me the day that we laid my son to rest He was a true blue soldier who gave his life his best. I got a knot in my throat and a chill in my bones A tear rolled down my face A mother has lost her son at war The pain on her face. In a mother's eyes you can see red, white, and blue In a mother's eyes you can see the pain so true Freedom comes with a cost of sadness and loss You can see in a mother's eyes. When someone puts their life on the line so others can be free It's a selfless act of courage and love, how thankful we all should be And when I look at the flag today, I see a whole new meaning there I see the men and the women who died for her So in this freedom we can share. In a mother's eyes you can see red, white, and blue In a mother's eyes you can see the pain so true Freedom comes with a cost of sadness and loss You can see in a mother's eyes. In a mother's eyes you can see red, white, and blue In a mother's eyes you can see the pain so true Freedom comes with a cost of sadness and loss You can see in a mother's eyes. |
I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.
I heard the sound of TAPS one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That TAPS had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.
