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The road wore a coat, a thick blanket of snow
Spring had not reached those Tennessee hills
As midnight approached, three Rebs lie in a hole
Near a slope where six brethren were killed

In tattered gray suits and in dire need of shoes
For the soles were exposing their feet
Two whole days without food, a true skeleton crew
The youngest was not quite sixteen

Had a wound to his chest and his face was a mess
None had slept since the sun disappeared
And the moon overhead cast a light on the dead
Frozen stiff with a bloody veneer

The youth tried to speak through his chattering teeth
His lips forming words without sound
For the bite in the breeze caused his larynyx to freeze
So he whispered a plea to the ground

"Please don't let me die without tellin' me why
What's the reason I'm fightin' this war
Mama's tears never dry since we lost Dad and Cy
And I'm all she has left from before"

His sargeant said, "Son, I won't shoot if you run
For our odds of survival are long
But I will take your gun if you flee from the front
It might help when my bullets are gone"

"Naw, Sarge, it's okay, it's my duty to stay
And coward's a hard brand to lose
But I would like to say that if I had my way
There would be no damned guns left to shoot

"We all have our pride, but the dead from both sides
Would advise us to seek a new peace
Cause the ones who survive can return to their lives
And forget all the horror they've seen"

The sarge thought it best to leave bad news unsaid
For the young lad had no way to know
Of the nightmares ahead from the memories of death
All the boy had to count on was hope

Next morning at dawn came a bugler's song
Which was silenced by shouts from the trees
"It's all over, go home," the North's courier entoned
"Grant accepted surrender from Lee!"

The Rebs overheard and they cringed at the words
Only briefly, for peace came to mind
Then they noticed the birds, a fresh cheer in their chirp
And they laughed until they realized

Home was three weeks away if they marched hard all day
Over gravel and cinder and root
Too tired to dig graves, the sarge said, "Come this way"
They approached their dead brethren for shoes

Then some Yanks topped the rise and were shocked by the sight
Of the Rebs lifting shoes from the dead
"Hey, come on, now, you guys, we can loan you supplies
We're at peace, won't you join us for bread"

Descending the hill, they danced to old reels
Most composed with a Southerner's pen
Four years the blood spilled, half a million were killed
But the State
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