The smell of the turf on a warm September night
The roar of the crowd as the team scores another touchdown
It doesn’t matter; we don’t even react
For our purpose here is something entirely different

The buzzer sounds to end the first half
We take the field, excited and numb from nerves
Our hearts are pounding, the drums are beating
Our feet move mechanically to the beat

Quarter notes and half notes practiced for many long hours
Finally the reward sending chills through our bodies
Our feet stop; our horns come down
We smile at a job well done

Most people don’t notice us
They are so wrapped up in their technology
If they would only take 5 minutes and escape
Into a world of beauty and passion

This is marching band