Ghosts of the Battlefield

Dust settles on my boots again,

Marching through a town where I once had men.

Their voices echo in the evening breeze,

Calling out from the memories.

I see their faces in the firelight glow,

Laughing, dreaming, now they’re shadows.

Left with medals, scars, and blame,

Carrying the weight of their names.

I hear them calling in the dead of night,

Their whispers ride on the wind’s cold bite.

I made it home, but I’m still there,

With the ghosts of the battlefield everywhere.

Folded flags and letters unread,

Promises made to the ones now dead.

I shake their hands in my mind once more,

Before I walk through that old front door.

I see their faces in the firelight glow,

Laughing, dreaming, now they’re shadows.

Left with medals, scars, and blame,

Carrying the weight of their names.

I hear them calling in the dead of night,

Their whispers ride on the wind’s cold bite.

I made it home, but I’m still there,

With the ghosts of the battlefield everywhere.

They say time heals, but it’s all a lie,

I still see them every time I close my eyes.

One more breath, one more fight,

One more chance to make it right.

I hear them calling in the dead of night,

Their whispers ride on the wind’s cold bite.

I made it home, but I’m still there,

With the ghosts of the battlefield everywhere.

So I raise a glass and say their names,

For the ones who never came.

I live for them, though it’s not fair,

'Cause the ghosts of the battlefield are everywhere.