The Ghost Of The Young Soldiers

THE GHOST OF THE YOUNG SOLDIERS

We struggled for the beaches then we crawled into the fire.

Burning bullets tore through our young flesh.

Hell’s horror could not breach us, we ascended to the pyre.

Our Battle cry was all that we had left.

Chorus:

We’re the ghost of the young soldiers

dead and dying on that day.

Giving life to a world whose hope was lost.

We sought to buy your freedom with the oceans of our blood.

We fought to save our brothers from this cost.

So before you sell your freedom

to the ones who would enslave,

Before you chase the rainbow’s pot of gold,

Spend a tear on the lonely ones who perished on the shore.

Listen for their echoes in the cold.

For the sake of unborn daughters, for the sons we’d never have,

We sailed in sheets of linen on the wind.

We plunged into the slaughter like sacrificial calves,

Our ears cindered silent by the din.

Chorus:

We bled in arms of comrades. We bled out there alone.

We bled until our hearts had pumped us dry.

Our dreams lay in shatters, burst with our bones.

It hurt so bad we couldn’t even cry.

Chorus: Taps

Thousands gather ‘round us to embrace our rows of graves.

With tears they hope to wash away our pain.

But we didn’t fight for medals, and we didn’t die for praise.

We died so none would have to fight again.

Chorus... repeat last two lines.

Words & Music ©Mark E. Adams-Westin 1994