What did you do before this madness began?
You've done your work well - were you an angry young man,
Or were these the hands of someone who might have shared
A day of honest work - somewhere back there?

How does it feel when there's nothing to hold?
Are the bones of your dusty wings broken and sore?
Does the noise of distant armies still make you cry?
It's the sound of the thunder coming down on the line.

Take my hand
You broken soldier man.
You can hold it just as long as you can.
Somewhere in this night
You'll spread your wings,
And you'll go back home again -
Upon those flying things.

And what did you think - that lifetime ago?
Did you think you'd be lying here - broken and torn?
Did you count your blessings - did you name them one by one?
Were they carelessly squandered? You say you have none.

Take my hand
You broken soldier man.
You can hold it just as long as you can.
Somewhere in this night
You'll spread your sings,
And you'll go back home again -
Upon those flying things.