Vicksburg Lyrics

I have felt it, the quiver of grim deeds
While walking on the cannon field.
Scarlet roses run like blood blooms,
Emblems of those fighters killed.

I don't cotton keeping slaves, y'all.
Lord, how loathsome, vile, and fell.
But to those who fought with brave gall,
I lift my glass and a rebel yell.

Did I hear a mockingbird
From a copse of trees,
Bringing to me Dixie measures
Wafting on the breeze?
Or did I discern something subtler
Haunting that landscape,
Whistling in eternity,
Still dressed in tattered gray?

Well, I would not glorify war.
It is a savage devil fever.
But the bright flash of gunfire and sword
Is as primal as this river.

How did they fight? They fought quite sharp,
A Southern glint hard in their eyes.
On the 47th night, amid the smoldering ramparts,
Vicksburg gave up a harrowing sigh.

Did I hear a mockingbird
From a copse of trees,
Bringing to me Dixie measures
Wafting on the breeze?
Or was that song When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again
On wan lips with irony
And melancholy without end?

I could almost feel the fusillades
From those ironclads up to the steeps.
I could almost feel old tears drop
In the dew that morning weeps.