He hears the shouts of battle
as the mighty cannons sound.
Eyes stinging from black powder
he fires his final round.
His body torn and bleeding,
he collapses to the ground.
As darkness falls he wonders
if he ever will be found.
Five suns and moons will rise and set
upon that gory hill
before the air is silent
and the guns have had their fill.
The natives call it slaughter.
The preacher says, "God's will."
It doesn't matter what you call it,
to that soldier on the hill.
His eyes are fixed, and lying still.
Nov 1, 2013
Nov 1, 2013 at 1:42 AM UTC
He hears the shouts of battle
as the mighty cannons sound.
Eyes stinging from black powder
he fires his final round.
His body torn and bleeding,
he collapses to the ground.
As darkness falls he wonders
if he ever will be found.
Five suns and moons will rise and set
upon that gory hill
before the air is silent
and the guns have had their fill.
The natives call it slaughter.
The preacher says, "God's will."
It doesn't matter what you call it,
to that soldier on the hill.
His eyes are fixed, and lying still.
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