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“Just when he thought he’d had all he could take,
April arrived like a careless mistake.” 

From DRIVING DIXIE DOWN by Anonymous Brown
Smithstonian Folkways Recordings catalogue # 317-704-1106

When something is broken, it’s no longer of any use
Once you’ve given up trying to fix it.
When April came, I was no longer of any use.
I was still marching, but I no longer had an army;
All I did was foot the bill.
Jackson had long since crossed that river;
Longstreet just sat in his tent.
As my battle weariness grew deeper,
My most trusted companion and partner 
Mirrored my distress by declaring herself 
A victim of compassion fatigue. 
The lady who’d enabled me
Had decided she’d changed her mind.
She faulted my drinking, forgetting my thirst
And the sacrifices I’d made 
Trying to save our confederacy.
Arlington no longer belongs to me; 
Now it belongs to the dead.
My fortune is gone, spent 
In the service of a hopeless cause.
As I survey the situation, 
Grieving everything I’ve lost,
I agree the logistics were daunting
And our cause did involve 
The unpleasant issue of slavery,
But then, aren’t we all slaves to something?
Loyalty to my beloved state was always 
My principal motivation;
Loyalty to my home and family.
The requirements of honor 
Would have no less of me.
I realized too late that every time 
We went walking together, 
I was really walking alone,
While she kept her thoughts confined to her journal.
I know it ended when Pickett
Failed to carry Cemetery Ridge,
And the paymaster was forced into bankruptcy.
But denial makes us blind
To that which we choose not to accept.
We bargain for strategies to defeat depression.
Anger becomes the last resort.
You can’t put the wind in a bottle
Then complain he’s no longer the man you married.
I’ve witnessed Easter Sunday steal the glory
Good Friday earned in blood,
And watched dawn reveal the solid chocolate bunny
Presented to me was hollow as a regimental drum.
I’d trusted the confectioner’s sales pitch.
It is with genuine justification that she called me
The hardest working, and most cynical man she’s ever known.
And though she never spoke a falsehood,
She left out half the truth.
But road worn and struggle weary though I am,
I’m still not ready for surrender.
Perhaps next week, but not today.
Not while I still have the strength to draw breath
In a calm and deliberate manner.
Dignity is a more comforting mantle
Than material success, on or off the battlefield.
And at least Traveller has remained loyal.
He’s only ever been but one shade of gray.
Not all mounts have that quality. I have learned that bays
Can be especially skittish, and are prone to bolt when scared,
However much they might cozy up when sugar is available.
Despite our best intentions and noblest efforts
Providence will sometimes intervene against us.
Success has proven to be illusory.
Having come across four Aprils staring Death in the face
I can now claim him to be my most faithful companion,
Morbid and stoic though he is.
And he’ll ride with me, I’m sure, as we retreat further west. 
I believe he relishes our conversations.
Our supply train awaits us at Appomattox.
First we’ll cut through Sheridan’s cavalry screen,
Then join forces with the Army of Tennessee
And carry on the fight.
We must always look beyond
The obstacles obstructing our progress
And carry on the fight.
How else can one live with one’s self?
In the final analysis, however, 
I have come to conclude that forgiveness and love
Must be central to negotiations
In any discussion of terms, should it come to that,
And vow to abide with the outcome for better or worse.
In the somber halls of a house divided 	
There’s no point to letting muddy boots 
Ruin the carpet.
With malice toward none…
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