At Bull Run

In Albany, New York, in 1862
A young man left his family to wear the Union blue
He promised his return to the mother of his son
And joined the ranks of volunteers, he turned twenty one
At Bull Run

I met him by a stone wall in 1983
I’d found his rusty bayonet laid across his knees
The Rebel yell was coming, did he have a chance to pray
I wondered if I’d shoot him if I’d been wearing grey
At Bull Run

You can see the blood upon the moon
On a cold Virginia night
In the shadows of the morning sun
There’s always yesterday, buried in the clay
This land is an altar to those men
The men who lost and won
At Bull Run

His locket holds a picture, a picture I have seen
It’s a photo of my great, great aunt, back in Albany
She handed down his letters so we could understand
How much she loved her Union boy, who became a man
At Bull Run

You can see the blood upon the moon
On a cold Virginia night
In the shadows of the morning sun
There’s always yesterday, buried in the clay
The land’s an altar to those men
The men who lost and won
At Bull Run

@Ben Mason 1987