Bobby Easton

THE DAY THE GRANITE CRIED

There is a wall of granite stone in the Valley of the Brave,
And on this granite wall are names of those we could not save.
Nestled in our nation’s heart, this valley hushed does lie,
And as you touch this granite wall, hear their spirits cry.
They cry not for themselves my friend, their earthly battles done,
But for their brothers left behind, abandoned, every one.
They proudly served their country’s call in a land so far away,
Yes, upon this granite stone of love, their names and spirits lay.

For many years they’ve not returned, for twenty… thirty… more,
Left to rot in some bamboo cage, upon an earthen floor.
They’ve all come home, that’s what we’ve heard, our leaders tell their lies,
But touch that wall of granite stone and feel their anguished cries.
Yes, there is a wall of granite stone in the Valley of the Brave,
And water flows from every name of those we could not save.
The final battles over won by those who’ve lied,
It’s February third in ninety-four, the day the granite cried