Bugles are calling
from prairie to shore,
Sign up and fall in
and march off to war;
Blue grass and cotton
burnt and forgotten
All hope seems gone so, soldier, march on to die.
Bugles are calling
from prairie to shore,
Sign up and fall in
and march off to war
There in the distance a flag I can see, Scorched and in ribbons but whose can it be;
How ends the story,
whose is the glory,
Ask if we dare our comrades out there who sleep.

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