The only math I care to do

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About this song

A song my father might have written in 1968. Written in his voice, taken from the 345 letters he wrote to my mom while he was in Vietnam.

Lyrics

[Intro]
[Acoustic Guitar, slow fingerpick]

[Verse 1]
It's Saturday night at Long Binh
I'm listening to the Grand Ole Opry again
Cold shower done, the mess hall's closed
I'm sitting in this nasty old room I suppose
I pull out that short-timer's calendar you sent
And I do the math down to the last percent

[Chorus]
51 point 6 percent
One more day closer, one more day spent
The red dust settles, the mortars  hum
I'm counting every number till I'm coming home
51 point 6 percent
That's how much I've crossed of this long descent
Every decimal point means I'm closer to you
And Linda, that's the only math I care to do

[Verse 2]
I wrote to you again about those high flying stocks
About the allotment check and the boy's new socks
I wrote about the heat and the cold-water shower
I wrote something down at the end of every hour
Because a man can't carry history on his back
So I narrowed down the world to what I had

[Chorus]
58 point 2 percent
One more day closer, one more day spent
The red dust settles, the mortars  hum
I'm counting every number till I'm coming home
58 point 2 percent
That's how much I've crossed of this long descent
Every decimal point means I'm closer to you
And Linda, that's the only math I care to do

[Bridge - slower, quieter]
The conditions were rough
But the separation was rougher
I'd look at those two little boys
And wonder — do they still remember their father

[Spoken]
I wrote every day because that's what you do.
You don't skip a day and let her worry.
The letters weren't literature.
They were me showing up.

[Verse 3]
75  point 8 percent — I can almost taste the air
Of Tulsa in the fall and your hand in mine somewhere
I don't think about the generals or the fight
I think about the reunion at the end of this night

[Final Chorus]
100 point zero percent
All the days are spent, all the days are spent
The dust has cleared, the artillery gone
I'm walking off the plane where I belong
100 point zero percent
Every decimal point crossed, every letter sent
All those numbers adding up to you
And Linda — I'm finally coming home to you

[Outro - Instrumental, fade]
[End]

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