Drums of Morn

I always start to hear the sound of drums near rise of morn it's the kind of march that in it's start could rouse the wear and forlorn, and though this corps is far away [a hundred miles it seems] I can't help but feel they beat their steel in my thoughts and in my dreams. Their tune is never really grim and never really gay it's strange, it never seems to change at all in any way A constant-thumpin', steady-bumpin' wash of noise all day But I s'pose the strangest thing of all, the thing I find most odd, is that what they play neglects to stray, in pace, from how I trod. Truly funny, truly strange, their baffling display of range! Whichever way I choose to march, they choose to play the same! And though the march they play matches my marching perfectly, I know I'd be a fool to think that march was meant for me...