"A Daughter Born the Day They Walked the Moon 
Somewhere On the Edge of the Age of Aquarius 
In the Year Her Mother 
Would Have Otherwise Forgotten 

July Was Very Hot in North Carolina 
So She Left For Buffalo On a Bus in the Rain 
With the Steam Off the Asphalt Still Wet in Her Hair 
And the Pain of Her Soldier Gone 
Just Sailed Away 

Before He Was a Soldier, He Was Just His Mother's Boy 
And That's Exaclty How She Planned to Keep Him 
His Father Died So Long Ago and He Was All She Had 
Still She Shared His Love With a Very Young Wife 
And Before the War Things Weren't So Bad 

But Every Generation Makes the Same Mistakes 
And Still They Send Their Sons Away to do the Same 
The Mothers Cry and the Daughters Die Inside 
And the Sons Like the Fathers 
March 

Whose Hair Was Longer? I Think His, She Might Say 
But in the Army They Cut It All Away 
Too Much Room For Wild Thoughts to Grow 

And in the Spring of His Child's First Year 
The Father, Hey the Son, the Husband 
Under Beautiful Sky, Youth Like Fire in His Eyes 
He Gave His Life For Nothin' 
No, Nothin' At All, They Said 

So Many Years and the Pain It Still Remains 
And Now Her Daughter's Man Will Sail Away 
Politics and Promises Forever the Same 
We Take Away and Sacrifice What We Cannot Replace 

And Every Generation Makes the Same Mistakes 
And Still They Send Their Sons Away to do the Same 
And the Mothers Cry and the Daughters Die Inside 
And the Sons Like the Fathers 
Now the Sons and the Daughters 
March 

Buffalo in the Winter, Bitter As It Is 
Is Home For Three Generations of Widowed Brides"