trouble's brewing in the ranks with broken men on every flank all the soldiers hands are red from all the tears and blood that's shed
and in the morning when the reveille puls us from our sleep puts a fracture in the reverie and kills our quiet dreams your widow waits with nervous grace a solemn look upon her face time is lost in love and war remember what your waiting for
and in the morning when the enemy fire among the men sounds like voices in an elegy for the years we didn't spend
