Red as the bloodshed, blue as the wounded, white as the crosses on our soldier`s graves. Through the rain, through the sun, these colors never run.
I first saw her standing on the corner of the stage and I`ve been pledging my allegiance ever since. We often take for granted her old familiar wave but that freedom cost a lot of brave young men and women.
It`s one that`s red as the bloodshed, blue as the wounded, white as the crosses on our soldier`s graves. Through the rain, through the sun, these colors never run. No they never will.
Now I`ve seen people treat her like she was some old rag, clueless to the human sacrifice. But you`ll always find a mother, a widow, a child, a sister or a brother with a carefully folded teardrop in their eyes.
It`s one that`s red as the bloodshed, blue as the wounded, white as the crosses on our soldier`s graves. Through the rain, through the sun, these colors never run. No, these colors never run.
---