She stands on the pier with tears in her eyes;
His ship sails away while she waves her goodbyes;
She clasps her hands and gives them a wring;
Then tugs at her finger and twists off the ring
She slips in the clutch she wears at her side;
Having glistened her lips, she smacks them wide;
Adjusts her jewels and straightens her smock;
Her eyes now gleaming she turns back the clock
And returns to the bar where she learned how to deal
With young drunken Sailors copping a feel;
She runs to her car and looks in the window,
She looks just fine she’s a Westpac Widow.

It’s seven o’clock and time to get ready;
He looks in the mirror and holds his gaze steady;
Now raising the comb he sights down his part,
But stops and smiles, he’s always the star;
He picks up a ruler to measure the gap
Between his front teeth, he’s Italian you know;
He swings into action and dons his gold trinkets,
They flash in the light against his bronze neck;
Dabs on cologne and unbuttons his shirt
He’s ready to go, he’s smooth as a flirt;
One last look at the fine work of his tailor,
And it’s off for the bars, he’s a Westpac Sailor.

She’s home all alone, her daddy’s deployed,
Mommy’s gone out, to play with the boys;
It’s nearly bedtime and she looks at the jar
In the kitchen nook, by the breakfast bar;
It’s full of sweets, one hundred eighty inside,
Candy kisses from daddy, one for each night
He’s away overseas, for country and God,
And for family, too, in case he forgot;
While mommy’s away, and daddy’s deployed,
She looks at his picture and hopes that the void
In her heart will somehow bear the distance between,
Her and daddy, she misses her king.