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,

Your widow.

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