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 to sleep.

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