You´re the image of the man I knew
You´re as pretty as a picture, and as true
The telegram, so neatly folded
Like the flag and uniform that you drew
I think of you every morning
But you will never come back home
And in my daughter´s drawing
Her hero holds onto hope
You´re pale and golden like desert light
Below a cotton-candy sky
A river runs a vivid poppy red
The truth would drain the blue out of your eyes
I think of you every morning
But you will never come back home
And in my daughter´s drawing
Her hero holds onto hope
