"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"