chorus:
The first time it was fathers, the last time it was sons,
and in between your husbands marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question, you just went on with your lives,
cause all they taught you who to be was mothers, daughters, wives!
You can only just remember the tears your mother shed
as she sat and read the paper through the lists and lists of dead.
And the gold frame held the photograph that Mother kissed each night.
And the door frame held the shocked and silent stranger from the fight.
chorus:...
It was twenty-one years later, you've children of your own.
The trumpets sounded once again and the soldier boys were gone,
so you made their guns and drove their trucks and tended to their wounds
and at night she kissed the photographs and hoped for safe returns.
And after it was over, you have to learn again
to be just wives and mothers when you've done the work of men.
So you worked to help the needy and you never trod or toes,
and the photos on the mantelpiece struck a happy family pose.
chorus: ...
And your daughters grew to women, and your little boys to men.
And you pray that you were dreaming when the call-up came again.
But you bravely smiled and held your tears as they proudly waved good bye.
And the photos on the mantelpiece, they always made you cry...
And now you're getting older and in time the photos fade.
And in widowhood you sit back and reflect on the parades
of the passing of your memories; how your daughters changed their lives,
seeing more to their existences than mothers, daughters, wives!
chorus: ... and you believed them, when they said you were just mothers, daughters, wives!