Gettysburg

He holds his head high as he marches to war,
and he knows well what he's in for.
He's heard of the death, he's heard of the pain,
he knows the number of those that were slain.

Marching, he knows he's going to his doom,
and by the sounds in the air, it will be soon;
Soon he'll be just another corpse on the ground,
another nameless soldier like those around

He takes his orders with a stout heart,
but even he shakes as the battle starts
Men charge, men fall, right before his eyes,
with each ringing shot, he comes closer to his demise.

"Onward, onward, boys!" is the rallying call,
"Keep going when those around you fall!"
But how can he go on when his friend's on the ground?
He knows that even loyalty has its bounds

The captain is calling; now it won't be long.
How does he know what's right and wrong?
He won't leave his comrade there to die;
at least he can comfort him, at least he can try.

Kneeling beside his friend, he cradles his head,
even though he knows that he'll soon be dead.
A few words of comfort, that's all he can spare,
as he rises again, heart full of despair.

The end is approaching, the hour's at hand.
He knows he'll die in this foreign land.
But if his death is the price the battle demands,
it's all he can do to make a last stand.

Raising his fist, he gives a shout;
all the fear inside has been chased out.
Now he stands, refusing to be discharged,
and he lets a tear go as the captain cries, "Charge!"