I stood before the shinny wall, Scarred with all the men. I saw myself looking out, As I stood looking in.

My image there in glossy black, Seemed safe behind the names, Of all the souls who died for me, Yet held me not to blame.

Some fell in the rice fields. Some rode their aircraft down. Some were hit by friendly fire, Or their gunboat sank and drown.

Not a phone book in the country, Has a name not etched in there. Not a phone book in the country, Has a name that should not care.

America so beautiful, When will you understand, And wrap your love around the ones, Who served in Vietnam?