by tyler stenson © 2010 — ASCAP
As long as there has been a song, I’ve felt it in my bones.
It was a gift from my dear mother and her father who passed on-
A long line of Music Makers and of soldiers for the Muse.
Oh, that boy in my war fell out of tune as he fell upon a couple grenades.
That boy in my war is still alive and he’ll fight til Dying Day.
I crossed into California with a smile upon my face
But then I soon left San Francisco with my tail between my legs.
I swear, I was good as I could be on any given time of day
Still, that boy in my war saw the beach burn and the earth quake like a grenade.
That boy in my war is still alive and he’ll fight til Dying Day.
He’ll blow like leaves in the wind
But be proud just to know that at least he can be his own man-
Not that boy.
I burned a bridge in the desert and left Arizona northbound
And thought: If it’s not in Salt Lake, is it Oregon where it’ll be found?
On certain nights all the notes were bright and on others they would fade
And that boy in my war called out to god: To Hell with all the grenades!
That boy in my war is still alive and he’ll fight til Dying Day.
He’ll blow like leaves in the wind
But be proud just to know that at least he can be his own man-
Not that boy.
Now, every time I sing, it’s just my confidences wearing thin
So I have to believe this lonely road would bring ’em back again.
I’m as good as I can be on every given time of day
And that boy in my war will no doubt rise in spite of a couple grenades.
That boy in my war is still alive and he’ll fight til Dying Day.