You’re a hero Tom Hunter, so all the boys say
You’re a hero I know, in your own quiet way.

You’ve seen plenty of action, you’ve been through the mill,
you were there in the battle on Tumbledown Hill.
You were there when young Frankie stood up and got shot,
spun round by the bullet that opened his gut.
You were the one put the field dressing on
and held him and watched as he died in the sun.
You were there once before, in the fight at Goose Green
when you saw good men die and you heard young boys scream.
Now what do you say when they ask about wars
“Did you kill one or two? Do you have any scars?”
Do you mention the wounds in your head every night
and of waking with knuckles tight clenched screaming white.

You’re a hero Tom Hunter, so all the boys say,
you’re a hero I know, in your own quiet way.
You can tell them the truth, you can tell them it all,
or do as you do and say nothing at all.

You were there in The Gulf when the call came once more
fighting other men’s children in other men’s wars.
You were there in the sand with the sun on your back
when the sky filled with hate and the daylight went black.
You were there when the beaches were covered in oil
when the quiet gulf waters seemed almost to boil,
when the lights of the world seemed dismal and dull
when we all saw that truck and the black staring skull.

You’re a hero Tom Hunter, so all the boys say,
you’re a hero I know, in your own quiet way.
You can tell them the truth, you can tell them it all,
or do as you do and say nothing at all.

Now that you’re home and the fighting’s all past
its all put behind you and you’re safe at last.
But each time you look at your own teenage son
you remember the boys that forever are gone.
The ones that you left, who fought and who died,
the ones who are dying tonight in your mind.

You’re a hero Tom Hunter, so all the boys say
You’re a hero I know, in your own quiet way.
You can tell them the truth, you can tell them it all,
or do as you do and say nothing at all.