Gettysburg dream from two centuries gone by,
Kicking up dust on the road through the fields,
I see through their tired eyes that hot July sky,
The cause they all wield their only true shield.
I sense the fear that lies swollen deep in the gut,
It’s about a man’s honor they would all proudly say,
So they pray for the chance to make one final cut,
But if truth be told these souls would all slip away.
Slowly we march to the sound of sudden death,
I watch a flock of birds rising up through the dust,
A strange silence descends with each passing breath,
The torn banners a symbol of a cause that is just.
And then, as if in a dream, time begins to stand still,
As I mourn for the young men who are called to kill.