War of the States

The days are long

The nights are harsh

Our feet feel just like lead

The men are tired

As wounded come in

Most of them are dead

We sit around the campfire

And talk about our past

Missing our families

Missing our friends

And hope this war won't last

We lay inside our tents to sleep

The ground is wet and cold

We're dreaming of the lovely day

We'll go marching home

We go to battle in the morn

We March there all the way

Hopping that afterwards we live another day

When this war is over

And many men have died

And the families of the lost

Have hung their heads and cried

I'll be waiting at the front

For all of those in pain

Just take my hand

And we'll go home

And you'll never cry again.