The towers had just fallen on that fateful day. Emotions were high and running away. There was anger and awe and revenge in the air. I could feel 'national fever' overtaking my fear. Guns are the answer. I said in this state. We need a war hero to set them all straight. So in an instant a soldier was born to carry our flag high and settle the storm. But in the chaos, the realness set in. The thought of the soldiers and the beginning of him. Over time I met many who came back from the war. The liars, the fighters, the emotionally torn. The haters and killers, the diamonds in rough, The cutters and healers, the damned and the tough. Some without elbows, some without legs, Some without passions and some who were saved. Then one day my neighbor came home from that war He told stories of children shooting guns out the door He had children of his own and shuttered the thought Of his own little babies in a battle so hot. From those types of stories and reality tales, Oh, and meeting the cutter at a register sale. I knew in my heart that my song was complete I had lived all the pieces to package it neat. So, with a chord here and a word there the writing began. And 'Crazy When He Came Home' was my song in the end.