I was the first fruits of the battle of Missionary Ridge.
When I felt the bullet enter my heart I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary,
Instead of running away and joining the army,
Rather a thousand times the county jail Than to lie under this marble figure with wings,
And this granite pedestal Bearing the words 'Pro Patria.' What do they mean, anyway?
