She was just another war nurse. She could strike a noble pose. Caring for our young boys when a bullet laid them low. She would hover over them and cry. And pull the cover over them when they'd die. She was just another lonesome lady lover sister of the gun. And though France would call her darling. She was a nurse 'neath the rising sun. She knew no hells or heavens or harbors or havens. She was every mother sister wife and lover. Whose love a soldier boy was savin'. She believed in the birth of the broad sword. She was not a shielded one. Though France would call her darlin'. She was nurse 'neath the rising sun. She was a soldier's shrapnel sweetheart direct from the combat zone. She was a reincarnation o fthe Virgin MAry. She was the hooker down in San Antone. And though her heart was somewhere in Iceland. Commanding the dawn patrol. Blessed in this blood and stitched into these bones. the war nurse left her soul. Blessed in this blood and stitched into these bones. the war nurse left her soul.