Come friends and fellow soldiers brave,
   Come listen to our song;
About the rebel prisons, and
   Our sojourn there so long.
Our wretched state and hardships great,
   No one can understand
But those who have endured this fate
   In Dixie's sunny land.

When captured by this "chivalry,"
   They stripped us to the skin,
But failed to give us back again 
   The value of a pin --
Except those lousy rags of gray,
   Discarded by their band,
And thus commenced our prison life
   In Dixie's sunny land.

With a host of guards surrounding us,
   Each with a loaded gun.
We were stationed in an open plain,
   Exposed to rain and sun.
No tent or tree to shelter us
   We lay upon the sand,
Thus side by side great numbers died
   In Dixie's sunny land.

This was our daily bill of fare
   In that secesh saloon:
No sugar, tea or coffee there,
   At morning, night, or noon;
But a pint of meal, ground cob and all,
   Was served to every man,
And for want of fire we ate it raw,
   In Dixie's sunny land.

We were by these poor rations, soon
   Reduced to skin and bones;
A lingering starvation, worse
   Than death we could but own.
Three hundred lay both day and night,
   By far too weak to stand;
Till death relieved their sufferings,
   In Dixie's sunny land.

We poor survivors oft were tried
   By many a threat and bribe,
To desert our glorious Union cause,
   And join the rebel tribe;
Though fain we were to leave the place,
   We let them understand
We'd rather die, than thus disgrace
   Our flag, in Dixie's land.

Thus dreary days and nights rolled by,
   Yes, weeks and months untold;
Until the happy time arrived,
   When we were all parolled.
We landed at Annapolis,
   A wretched looking band,
But glad to be alive and free,
   From Dixie's sunny land.

	Breathe not a whisper here;
The place where thou dost stand is hallowed ground;
In silence gather near this upheaved mound -
	Around the soldier's bier.

	Here Liberty may weep,
And Freedom pause in her unchecked career,
To pay the sacred tribute of a tear
	O'er the pale warrior's sleep.

	That arm now cold in death,
But late on glory's field triumphant bore
Our country's flag; that marble brow once bore
	The victor's fadeless wreath.

	Rest soldier, sweetly rest;
Affection's gentle hand shall deck thy tomb
With flowers and chaplets of unfading bloom
	Be laid upon thy breast.

Argonne Forest, at midnight,
A sapper stands on guard.
A star shines high up in the sky,
bringing greetings from a distant homeland.
 
And with a spade in his hand,
He waits forward in the sap-trench.
He thinks with longing on his love,
Wondering if he will ever see her again.
 
The artillery roars like thunder,
While we wait in front of the infantry,
With shells crashing all around.
The Frenchies want to take our position.
 
Should the enemy threaten us even more,
We Germans fear him no more.
And should he be so strong,
He will not take our position.
 
The storm breaks!  The mortar crashes!
The sapper begins his advance.
Forward to the enemy trenches,
There he pulls the pin on a grenade.
 
The infantry stand in wait,
Until the hand grenade explodes.
Then forward with the assault against the enemy,
And with a shout, break into their position.
 
Argonne Forest, Argonne Forest,
Soon thou wilt be a quiet cemetary.
In thy cool earth rests
much gallant soldiers' blood.

Bent double,
 like an old beggar under sacks,
Knock-kneed,
coughing like hags,
we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our back
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.

Men marched asleep.
Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod.
All went lame; all blind;

Drunk with fatigue;
deaf even to the hoots
Of gas shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!-An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. . .

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea,
 I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams,
before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me,
guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face,
like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,-

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est 
Pro patria mori.*

*"It is sweet to die for your native land."

In the words of the five star general as he spoke to the USA
"Old soldiers never die they just fade away"
But speak not of the Korean Veteran as you hear him coming through
in remembrance of his comrades with his tears of gratitude

In the year of Nineteen Fifty the communist had a plan
to capture South Korea
but the free world made their stand

Yes John Q there was Korea
but not like the wars before
for this action came
with a police action name
when the bear had knocked on the door

Many countries remembered their fallen with respect of honor due
but in thease states such little relates and our historys words were few

For in the hallway of the high school
mahogany plaques stand out
of the names engraved
and the sacrifice made
to remind us what war is about

There are names there of the first war
the very first bugle call
and for the Taps that blew in world war two
and of the boys from Nam on the wall

But the Korean War forgotten
Fifty Four Thousand lost their place
and the Eight Thousand more are MIAs
of them theres such little trace

So hear us Five Star General
we heed to the words you say
that Old Soldiers never die
but why must they fade away