A mist halos the meadow
|
and a soft wind breathes a whisper through the trees
|
as I lean against a hickory I close my eyes and I can almost see
|
the ghostly forms of blue and gray
|
and i can almost hear the cannons blast
|
Standing in the presence of the past
|
|
The first few waves came cheering
|
fear and hatred came running through their blood
|
When the day was finally over
|
those left were wading through a crimson flood
|
To think I could be right here
|
in the spot where some young solidier breathed his last
|
standing in the presence of the past
|
|
Brother fighting brother
|
father fighting son
|
by the time the sun was setting
|
looked like the south had won
|
now my mouth's as dry as cotton
|
and my heart is beating fast
|
standing in the presence of the past
|
|
sunrise caught the rebels sleeping
|
and they woke to hear a yankee bugle blow
|
bullets flew like angry hornets
|
till the peach tree blossoms drifted down like snow
|
it mut have been like hell on earth
|
what happened here is more than we can grasp
|
standing in the presence of the past
|
|
brother fighting brother
|
father fighting son
|
by the time the smoke had lifted
|
they knew the north had won
|
lord my soul feels empty
|
as my tears fall on this grass
|
standing in the presence of the past
|
|
Brother killing brother
|
Father slaying son
|
from the looks of this old graveyard
|
hell nobody really won
|
somethings changed inside me
|
it sure can happen fast
|
Standing in the presence of the past
|
|
A mist halos the meadow and a soft wind
|
breathes a whisper through the trees
|
|
-----------------
|
Shiloh
|
Darryl Worley |