I send you, God, my fine young son.
He died in foreign lands.
He yelled, “Remember 9-1-1!”
In blood-soaked desert sands.
He said he’d fight to conquer hate,
With Freedom at his side.
I knew my son had met his fate.
While cowards there still hide.
But, don’t you worry, Mighty Lord;
Another fine young man
Will take up my son’s shielded sword
And fight to save our land.
For we are stewards of your might,
Of freedom, hope, and love.
I swear we’ll not give up the fight,
You watch us from Above.
And when we bow on bended knee
To give you thanks and joy
For our eventual victory
Please hug my little boy.
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