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He got off the plane and looked at no one |
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He walked down the tarmac in the direction of nowhere |
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He followed the sun as it was setting |
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Glad to be done with all the bloodletting |
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There were no banners for the proud and the few |
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Just workers in airports that do what they do |
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Fuel up the planes, unload the bags |
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Along with the coffins all covered in flags |
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When Johnny came marching home |
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The town he was from was a dead little place |
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So he looked for a job somewhere off-base |
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In this city of pawn shops and hotels and bars |
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Gas stations, strip clubs, highways and cars |
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He went to a dive, ordered a beer |
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Said turn the music up loud so it's all that I hear |
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Try to rewind, turn back the years |
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Stop the explosions between my ears |
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When Johnny came marching home |
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The jobs were all sh*** and the beer it was cheap |
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And besides there was no other way he could sleep |
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Still the screams and the guns would wake him at night |
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And he was always on edge and ready to fight |
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And when he closed his eyes he would just see the face |
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Of a woman he killed in a far-away place |
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Over and over, the white of her eye |
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And her final and terrible terrified cry |
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When Johnny came marching home |
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After just a short time his health fell apart |
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With an ache in the joints and such a thump in the heart |
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And the doctor just told him it's all in his head |
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But he couldn't stop drinking or get out of bed |
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And with no place to go but the wrong way |
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It was a shock to his ears when he heard himself say |
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Over and over to anyone within range |
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Hey mister, can you spare some change |
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When Johnny came marching home |
