Cold Wind Calling - Wartorn | Текст песни

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• Cold Wind Calling
• Wartorn

My dear,
The days are getting longer out here.
I’ve still got my brothers but I’m so alone out here.
Got your picture in my pocket,
The swamps haven’t been kind to the image,
But you’re still as beautiful to me now as you were the day we met.
Even through a weathered image I can still remember your scent,
The way your skin glistened in the sun.
I remember it like it was like yesterday,
So my image of you has stayed the same.
I wait anxiously for a sign of relief,
Sometimes hoping some saving shrapnel might find me unable to move forward and be forced to come home.
To come home to you.
Don’t care if I have to crawl, I will find myself in your arms again, I promise.
I will cheat the grave, strike death over its head to push through and run,
And hope beyond hoping there’s something left of me in you.
I now know what they meant when they told me about army wives;
How you never quite forget the look in your children’s eyes when you leave them for the last time.
And it was only a matter of time.
So with every letter I write, the fear and former-future-could-be-might-be-hope it won’t be-nightmare becomes more of a reality, as I wonder whether or not this will be my last offering to you.
I’m always wondering whether or not I should add another paragraph.
To tell you to tell our son he won’t be seeing his daddy ever again. To tell him daddy’s never coming home. I don’t wanna make you sad, but if I don’t say it now then you’ll never know.
There was never anything that I wanted more than to come home and watch him grow.
To see him become more of a man than I could have ever been. I wanted him to know his father as more than just a distant figure out there fighting for something he could never understand.
I wanted the normal life, to hold his hand on his way to the bus stop and let him know his daddy was always there to protect him.
And now I wonder how all of this will affect him.
My dear, it’s getting colder out here.
I lost feeling in my hands weeks ago, but I want you to know that I will keep writing until I have no hands left to write with.
Here comes the conclusion.
This is always the hardest part.
Always afraid that “until next time” might ultimately mean “goodbye forever” in the long run.
I’ve been writing you for months but this part never gets easier.
If I die out here, promise you’ll do your best to stay strong.
Try your hardest for me. Tell our son to always be the best he can be.
After all, if I die, I live on through the memories and photographs of our happiness, so this isn’t really goodbye, even if it is.
So until next time,
With everything I am,
Your warrior.

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