At nine o’clock at night my telephone rings,
And it is the Army again, calling me again.
They are asking me questions, and at first
I think they are being nice.
But what they really want to know is where.
Where I am at all times, and if I go away,
They want to know where, where I will be.
Because this is war and this is how they do it.
If they know where I am, they can find me,
Drive here, and ring my doorbell to tell me,
Saying to me sorry and your husband is dead.
And I vow to myself that if it happens,
If I come around this corner in my car,
And see them out front, I will just go,
With the baby in the back, keep going,
Drive out of this town, across state lines,
And go where they cannot find me, where,
Where I will know you are dead, but where
I will not have to be her, that woman, not yet,