He is the one who delivers the news,
Though not a career path many would choose,
It's his to walk and he does it the best he can,
Away from the front since '43,
A small bit of shrapnel in one knee,
But now it's the soul not the body that ails this man.
He boards the train here in London Town,
It steams on out through the hills and downs,
The children smile and they wave and he waves right back,
The sun boils away early morning haze,
While out in fields sheep lazily graze,
As the iron horse draws him swiftly down the track.
When he gets to the coast he leaves the train,
In an hour or two he'll be back again,
But now there's a house to find and that's how this goes,
She stands at the door in her summer dress,
He asks "Mrs Anderson?" - she says "Yes?",
But she's seen his uniform now and so she knows.
A face that's framed out of disbelief,
Dissolves amid tears of unbounded grief,
He reports what he knows but knows it's not enough,
A helplessness he can never express,
With her angry fists pounding on his chest,
He'll stay for a while though he knows it will be rough.
He won't get a second of sleep tonight,
And no amount of gin can put that right,
He'll sit on his own in the dark and face the fear,
Tomorrow he'll have to do it again,
Reporting the news of the bravest men,
It's the worst news anyone ever has to hear.
Though not a career path many would choose,
It's his to walk and he does it the best he can,
Away from the front since '43,
A small bit of shrapnel in one knee,
But now it's the soul not the body that ails this man.
He boards the train here in London Town,
It steams on out through the hills and downs,
The children smile and they wave and he waves right back,
The sun boils away early morning haze,
While out in fields sheep lazily graze,
As the iron horse draws him swiftly down the track.
When he gets to the coast he leaves the train,
In an hour or two he'll be back again,
But now there's a house to find and that's how this goes,
She stands at the door in her summer dress,
He asks "Mrs Anderson?" - she says "Yes?",
But she's seen his uniform now and so she knows.
A face that's framed out of disbelief,
Dissolves amid tears of unbounded grief,
He reports what he knows but knows it's not enough,
A helplessness he can never express,
With her angry fists pounding on his chest,
He'll stay for a while though he knows it will be rough.
He won't get a second of sleep tonight,
And no amount of gin can put that right,
He'll sit on his own in the dark and face the fear,
Tomorrow he'll have to do it again,
Reporting the news of the bravest men,
It's the worst news anyone ever has to hear.
+1
