There’s a picture on the mantle, faded and bent, A boy in his greens, barely eighteen when he went. His mama kept his letters in a box under her bed, She still reads them softly, every word he said. And the world keeps turnin’, time rolls on, Flags still wave when the sun comes on. But freedom don’t come cheap, my friend, It’s paid in blood and hearts that bend. You can’t measure love in medals or lines, It’s found in the things they leave behind. There’s boots by the door, dust on the floor, He never did come home from that war. His brother wears his jacket when the nights get cold, Says it feels like he’s near, though the years got old. And the world keeps turnin’, time rolls on, Flags still wave when the sun comes on. But freedom don’t come cheap, my friend, It’s paid in blood and hearts that bend. You can’t measure love in medals or lines, It’s found in the things they leave behind. There’s names on a wall, carved in stone, Each one a story, each one a home. Yeah, the world keeps turnin’, time rolls on, Flags still wave when the pain feels strong. Freedom’s more than a word or a sign, It’s tears and prayers and borrowed time. You can’t measure love in medals or lines, It’s found in the things they leave behind. So I tip my hat when I pass that sign, To the ones who served and walked that line. May their hearts find peace, may their souls unwind— In the things they left behind.
