Soldiers
Do I hear what I think I'm hearing?Do I see the signs I think I see?Or is this just fantasy?Is it true that the beast is waking,stirring in his restless sleep tonightin the pale moonlight?In the grip of this cold Decemberyou and I have reason to remember.
Soldiers write the songs that soldiers sing,the songs that you and I don't sing.They blow their horns and march along,they drum their drums and look so strong;you'd think that nothing in the world was wrong.Soldiers write the songs that soldiers sing,the songs that you and I won't sing.Let's not look the other way,taking a chance,'cause if the bugler starts to play,we too must dance.