Dear son I know I ain't written
and sitting here tonight alone in the kitchen it occurs to me
I might not have said it so I'll say it now
son you make me proud
I hold it up and show my buddies
like we ain't scared and our boots ain't muddy
but no one laughs, cause there ain't nothing funny when a soldier cries
and I just wipe my eyes
I fold it up and put it in my shirt
pick up my gun and get back to work
and it keeps me drivin' on
waitin' on, letters from home