Air the battle grim
the angels do preside,
brave men upon their wings
to victory they ride.

Men toasting every night
the battles of each day,
for with every battle won
there is a price to pay.

And of the widows and the orphans,
who has heard their pleas?,
Though angels watch over men,
who watches over these?

Of the souls that die,
where does there spirit go?
Unto the heavens above
or into the ground below?

The answer to these questions,
The answer to these qualms,
are surely sorted out,
by Jesus and his palms.