The mist hung heavy in the air
Touching lightly on marsh grasses
It was almost like a London fog
And as thick as cold molasses

Beneath the mist in hiding
Decomposing in the night
Were the results of one more battle
Awaiting dawns early light

The Union and The Rebels
Fighting for what they believe
And soon, these victims kin folk
Will learn their fate and will then grieve

Cannon, gun and bayonet
Were the weapons for the ****
You couldn't see the bodies
Through the mist from on the hill

Amongst the dead one soldier
Died from a shot that came behind
His head was gaping open
He was shot by his own kind

The armies both died facing
The direction of attack
Except for this one soldier
Who was taken from the back

A coward's lot is hellfire
And so it will be for Will May
He was shot by his own brother
As he turned and ran away

The mist hung heavy in the air
Touching lightly on marsh grasses
It was almost like a London fog
And as thick as cold molasses

It was told that differences create harmony
that yin balances yang
that South completes North
that the oceans beautify the land
but I realize;
you and I
are the day and the night
that exist not for each other
to ever meet

Didn't catch something like a halo hidden in the dusty clouds?
A well described place, this "heaven," you search for as in vain,
Perhaps like a modern pirate with a compass which faces due south,
They'll find what they seek, even if it means innocent life is slain.

This is it, patriots! Trashed ghetto awaits in the biggest cities,
Out of site out of mind! I will STILL find my peace of the pie,
Richer dreams we seek in the earth, to hold and have, so pretty,
For now-at the cost of anything-it's our "innocent" man-made right.

But all of this commotion that brings so much confusion,
We'll see clearly what is considered to be conceived as a blessing,
A miracle of speaking, this way of making awkward confession,
It seems to make us feel better to find a sign, it must be missing.

X marks the spot! "We've found out" that it's hidden in the dunes,
Beneath the limitless dusty despair there will come an answer,
In time we'll make it to this place just not far beyond all moons,*
Even if it takes living a life-like lie that's a deadly nightmare cancer.

The year of Eighteen Sixty Five
Lincoln, shot and dead
The war was all but over
Destruction in it's stead
Blue and Grey divided
A nation great and strong
Was there ever a true winner?
So much of this was wrong
Brothers against brothers
Tearing families apart
It was a war with different issues
At Fort Sumter did it start
Slaves were not the forefront
When the war became a war
It was a war to stop secession
Then it became so much more
Johnny Reb comes marching home
Not the home that he once knew
It was now a state of new rebuilding
There was no more Grey, just Blue
Did it truly make the country
Unified under one flag?
Or did it become so much more splintered
Under a torn and tattered rag?
A President was murdered
But, the war, continued on
The ties that once did bind them
Were now just truly gone
The beauty of the country
Burned on Shermans' seaward trek
Left the Southern states demolished
And the plantations, just a wreck
The slaves were granted freedom
Through Emancipation at the end
But, in the south, it never happened
The landowners had to bend
Although the war was over
Slaves were free men after all
But, with nowhere left to go to
It was like a game without a ball
Many stayed and cropshared
Worked the same land as before
Now, they worked the land as freemen
Nothing less, and nothing more
Brothers still divided
Blue and Grey deep in their souls
Almost eight score years have passed
And the nation is still not whole
Grant and Lee at Appomatox
Ended the war and sent men on their way
But, it took days for the message to be heard and
Many more died in those days
Three Quarters of a Million
Lost their lives, in this young nation
One thing never altered
The place of a man's station
It split apart the country
Broke it down, to build anew
But, did it really matter
Now, with Johnny Reb in Blue?

The world is unfolding inside of me
because your departure took
the east, the west, the north, the south,
the fall, the spring, the trees from me.

I want to tell anyone in the South
Who is clinging desperately to their confederate heritage
That succeed and secede aren't just homonyms... They're opposites.