tall trees with their golden leaves rustling in the wind
sharply scented smoke dancing and twirling into the sky
the crackle of a little campfire, sucked up with the wind
the sound of gunfire echoes and reverberates through the sky

a small town, filled with families from all around
the sound of a church bell at that old school
home-made parachutes tumbling towards the ground
and a rather delicious scent of plenty of gruel

hoof-beats and neighs, through the town we go
pop open an ancient bottle of root beer
into the forest and past those tents we go
watching the soldiers get ready, with my root beer

a pig roasting, more fires pass us by
a few dozen more trees and we're finally there
my father, tall and proud, waves as we pass him by
and i see that little trench - i play nearby there!

towards that old empty field we go
everyone anticipates the gunfire and tanks that await
and the soldiers, my dad among them, want to go
i can't help but envision them, so great

the ride is done and i'm off
one of dad's friends i see with his motorcyle
into the sidecar i go and we're off
driving through the forest again, i see my dad on his bicycle

into battle he dives
i don't see him as the war rages
but afterwards i see his eyes
they glow with the sort of uplifted ages

later that night we walk to the barn
beautiful music fills our ears and dad dances with me
i feel so little in that big dancin' barn
i couldn't be any happier than i was as he danced with me

before we leave, i spot a little store
i can't recall what i'd bought
but it was something related to that war
and this was the best thing i could have been taught

my father, he was a WWII reenactor
sure, he had been one of the german soldiers
but for me he's still my daddy and the best actor
alongside being one of the toughest soldiers