His brave young heart is racing.!..
The Dragoons they are facing.!..
His only weapon sticks for a drum.!..
The patterned melody continues.!..
He loans his valor to his chums.!..
Enemy cannon are belching black.!..
The blunderbuss hot flaring back.!..
Sanity lost as muzzles roar.!..
The drum’s sound echoes across forest floor.!..
The rhythm as steady as before .!..
The enemy shouts too much to bear .!..
The excitement hence is roaring there.!..
Still, he maintains his rhythm fair.!..
Grape shot whistles, gunpowder sizzles flesh, and more.!..
The drum’s percussion fills the air.!..
More determined than before.!..
And so in turn do the beastly blasts.!..
Assaulting lead balls, splinters and bark.!..
The morbid weapons find their mark.!..
Tattered peat uniforms crimsoned dark.!..
Colin’s men have put to test.!..
Brave men of Gloucester third fought best.!..
Alas, without Bayonet nor cannon.!..
Rumors say t’was Arnold’s mistake.!..
Placing their homesteads and freedom at stake.!..
Melody maker rises to his feet.!..
rhythm uninterrupted to repeat.!..
An age is written upon his enlistment.!..
A soldier Too young to knock on death’s door.!..
The rhythm as steady as before.!..
The elusive victory no longer sought.!..
Not this day will our freedom be bought.!..
Ferguson pen’s “destroyed the FreeBooter’s” .!..
They sack the homes and return to the fleet.!..
The taste of Collin’s victory is sweet.!..
Melody maker again rises to his feet.!..
The beat uninterrupted still to repeat.!..
The rhythm as steady as before.!..
No answer from the crimsoned forest floor.
