I saw a war widow in a laundrette, washing the memories from her husbands clothes,
she had a lump in her throat, and cemetery eyes.
Because last night they told her that he was cold, untouchable.
He had fought for his country, now they said "he's free".
As if that could ever heal the pain, she can't take anymore.
She see's convoys curbcrawling West German Autobahns, Trying to pick up a war, They're going to even the score.
But he was never shot dead, he just lost his mind and his head.
Dimenture  and sore lungs from the poisons and gasses fed to him like the propaganda that the war would soon be over.
Real love, they say can last forever, so some say, they will always be together.
People don't fall in love anymore, they fall in love with the idea of being in love.
What a world to live in.
What a place to die.