I was sitting on the edge of his bed Staring at the headlines on the paper He said, "look at poor gene kelly I guess he won't be singing in the rain." You can take away my heroes Can you take away my pain Take away my pain Leave the cold outside Please don't let it rain Don't stumble on my pride Take away my pain I'm not frightened any more Just stay with me tonight I'm tired of this fight Soon I'll be knocking at your door She was standing by the edge of his bed Staring at the message on their faces He said, "what else can you do babe? I guess I won't be coming home again." They just took away all my promises Make them take away my pain Take away my pain Leave the cold outside Please don't let it rain Don't stumble on my pride Take away my pain I'm not frightened any more Just stay with me tonight I'm tired of this fight Soon I'll be knocking at your door His final scene The actor bows And all those years Are gone somehow The crowd applauds The curtain fails I was standing by the edge of the water I noticed my reflection in the waves Then I saw you looking back at me And I knew that for a moment You were calling out my name You took away my hero Will you take away my pain Take away my pain Let the cold inside It's time to let it rain There's nothing left to hide Take away my pain I'm not frightened any more I'm learning to survive Without you in my life Til you come knocking at my door...

Green fields where I walked when I was young man, in these Green fields where I plowed as a farmer, in these Green fields where I fought when I was a soldier in these green fields Coat of arms and a man with flowers Pink and smooth against the snow Top floor of the building rent is cheap and the stove's included A chimney black and bricks of brown sternly standing in the fog Monday noon but could be Tuesday fields never know the difference Now I'm dreaming about Normandy Now I'm remembering the fields I knew Peering through the dusty slats at anything I care to see Six floors up and all is well, as well expected to be The man with flowers straightens the little room that he calls home Pots and pans hang on the wall and wait to be abused by him Now I'm dreaming about bombs and blood Now I'm remembering the things I did Green the windows far away A mile or two I'd dare to guess A banker or insurance man would know the meaning of this outrage Beds of asphalt sheets of clay and all the things that go with wisdom Coat of arms and the man with flowers plays his bagpipes in the dark Now I'm dreaming of St. Christopher Now I'm remembering a summer morning