The Southerners are our friends,
Our brothers, our sisters,
A mother, a father
A husband, a wife.
In all these men and women stands a soldier

Who has discipline in.
Over the skies,
Among the sea’s,
Crossing the land and the limit.
No matter the times,
No matter the place.

Dried blood stains their hands

As they fight for freedom

And recognition of their own country.

Bodies lay on both sides,
Unending lines of the dead and dying.
They close their eyes, but still
the burning image remains.
There stands a Southerner,
To protect the right to own a slave.
Only to remember the many who were there.
We Shall Not Forget the Southerners.