A damp mist rises across the hallowed ground.

Long ago battle cries rang with sound.

The death toll reached new heights.

Ghostly remains are all that’s left on darkened nights.

Whether celebrated in the north,

Or forgotten in the south,

The unknown souls soldier on.

The fresh cut grass of Gettysburg,

Does little to belie the sound it once heard.

That day Grim swiftly flew by,

While dead souls drifted up in the sky.

Whether celebrated in the north,

Or forgotten in the south,

The unknown souls soldier on.

They tasted the bitterness of defeat.

At other times their missions they did complete.

Fought to the bitter end,

For beliefs that held their land.

As the dust settled, they beheld the truth

Just like I did once upon a time in a city named Duluth.

Whether celebrated in the north,

Or forgotten in the south,

The unknown souls soldier on.

The grass is always greener over the graves of those that died without a name.

Never did they realize their unknown fame.

They did what their country asked.

Families torn apart finally reunited at last.

So whether celebrated in the north,

Or forgotten in the south,

The unknown souls soldier on.

Think about this while you stand on Gettysburg’s fresh cut grass.

Once, upon that dirt soldiers did amass.

Fought to death, brother against brother,

For the beliefs that they thought were equally right to one another.

They’re blood marks the right of that there hallowed ground.

So in remembrance of them, gather round.

And remember whether celebrated in the north,

Or forgotten in the south,

The unknown souls soldier on.