March

"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"