June third is nothing more then a date.
Nothing more then the hundred fifty-fourth day of the year.
Nothing more then the date of the first civil war land battle.
Nothing more then a title of a song.
Nothing more then a regular day.
Nothing more then today.
But just look into a little.
To you it could mean nothing,
But to the person next you it could mean everything.

Maybe 19 years ago on this date,
Your mother and father were walking down the aisle.
She walked in, in a gorgeous white dress.
As he stood and waited for her at the alter,
In a black tux, his silk tie, and tears in his eyes.
Today on this day he bought her bouquets of roses.
One bouquet of red roses, for their growing love,
And one bouquet of white roses for their lost innocence.

Maybe 11 years ago on this date,
Your little brother was born.
He screamed and kicked and cried his way into the world.
With tiny fingers and tiny toes,
Was once an innocent and helpless thing.
Today he walked the halls proudly,
Proud to be who he has become.
The class president, a soccer star and number one.

Maybe 5 years ago on this date,
Your grandmother passed away.
You received a phone call with the news,
Prayed to god and hoped with fears, cried and begged in disbelief,
Pleased and whimpered sorrow tears.
Today you visited her at her grave.
Brought her favorite flowers, fields of sweet pea towers.
Cried and remembered her kindness.

Maybe just maybe, June third is not, nothing more then a date,
Not, nothing more then the hundred fifty-fourth day,
Not, nothing more then date of the first civil war land battle,
Not, nothing more then just a title of a song,
Not, nothing more then a regular day,
Not, just nothing more then today.
But maybe, just maybe, June third has some kind of meaning.