On the field of honor

The field has been set,

The masters play their game,

Men at the ready;

Their lives forever changed.

On and on, they march,

The drummer beats his drum,

The flag is up ahead,

The War has now begun.

As the time grows near,

The men, they start to sweat,

Yet as their hearts are pounding,

The Masters place their bets.

Now on the field of honor,

Their hearts have not grown cold,

The battle cries are heard

As they march, so bold.

 And as they see the guns,

Cannon balls afire,

They stand at the ready

Like the man they all admire.

He sits on his horse,

With a saber at his belt,

With the British flag up yonder

His hat a beaver pelt.

“Charge!” he yells,

At the top of his lungs,

As the Calvary races

With victory on their tongues.

The horse’s hooves,

Like a thundering storm,

In the distance

The sound of a horn.

In the end,

The blood’s been shed,

The general’s body

Now lies there, dead

The solders marched,

On and on,

Only to see

Over half of them gone.

Was it too much?

Is it too much to pay?

To help their families,

See another day?