Here I Lie
Here I lie,
'Neath that southern sky,
Among dead men and wild rye,
Blood stained grass and rebels' ply.
Maybe some sleep I'll catch tonight.
For where is the place,
Of no screams or imminent pain?
Of no hunger or gunsmoke's haze?
Of fresh streams and abundant grain?
Maybe some rest I will obtain.
Oh how my body aches!
With the tremble of fear and exhaust of hate,
Of endless marching and brotherly shame,
Of sending blue coats to their mortal fate,
Maybe some judgment I shall escape.
I remember the scene,
Of a tourniquet above my knee,
Long knives cutting in between,
For the rest I found unseen,
Except for the stump that would be left with me.
Maybe some dignity I will keep.
And what of my brothers?
Must they turn and fight another,
Cause grief to their lovers,
And spill the blood of common fathers?
Maybe some reunion I will discover.
Yet what are the odds?
Of returning life and harvesting sod?
Of speaking of honor and teaching cause?
Of making peace with God?
Maybe some chance I have got.
So what is the key,
To live on and be in harmony?
To forget and cast the imagery?
They say life reflects eternity.
Maybe some peace I'll strive to seek.
Here I lie,
'Neath that Southern sky,
With pain and scars awry
With hope and worth well dry,
I won't see any stars tonight.