Vietnam awaited and I was a child
I left you behind, your blonde hair slapped
with the tears a man can’t cry,
not in nineteen sixty and four.
I lied so many times I forgot the truth.
The truth that you were pure and I,
I was tainted with a letter painted on my forehead.
A man falls wide of the mark of righteousness.
Righteousness is a fog.
Wrong is wrong and I was wrong.
That was in nineteen sixty and four
When men couldn’t cry unless they died in turn.