All the old men remember Henry Hill, Henry Hill
And we shed a tear for the memory of him still
It's been forty years since Henry went out the kitchen door
And he never came back from the war.

His picture's on the piano in a silver frame
And his family may cry if you speak his name
In August '68 he went off to the war
And now he's forever 24.

The girls who he danced with are grandmothers now
But they still remember his smile and how
He waltzed them around and around the gym
On a sweet summer night they think of him

O Henry Hill we miss you in the spring
Your steady voice, your smile, your level swing
Young gifted and black in this old white town
It just feels poorer without you around

The angry voices across the land
Lord, I simply do not understand
This land by thee so richly blest
The sacrifices of these souls at rest

I'm older now and I have lost my faith
That man is ever going to find his way
But there are young ones around like Henry Hill
I don't believe, but Lord I hope they will