This year the vision of late Fall leaves
Is a wreath against the clear, blue sky.
Every turning leaf is a moment of grief
For our friends and loved ones to cry.
To those who weep alone for ones
Who fought in jungles for a lie —
That hate guns because they used them,
And can't come home cause' they didn't die.
Todays Autumn leaves fall for them; beauty, color,
Floating free; their bereaves again extend;
Every year, never leaving, never able to mend.
Never those clothes again, never public displays,
Sad being led by ones who thought could depend.
For those kids of the 60s, the leaves are for thee,
Tumbled down around the ground lying by the tree.
Next year life springs again by love for those we care,
But Spring is a refrain for those who are never free from
A war that remains an old dead tree, frozen and bare.
Is a wreath against the clear, blue sky.
Every turning leaf is a moment of grief
For our friends and loved ones to cry.
To those who weep alone for ones
Who fought in jungles for a lie —
That hate guns because they used them,
And can't come home cause' they didn't die.
Todays Autumn leaves fall for them; beauty, color,
Floating free; their bereaves again extend;
Every year, never leaving, never able to mend.
Never those clothes again, never public displays,
Sad being led by ones who thought could depend.
For those kids of the 60s, the leaves are for thee,
Tumbled down around the ground lying by the tree.
Next year life springs again by love for those we care,
But Spring is a refrain for those who are never free from
A war that remains an old dead tree, frozen and bare.