He wears a uniform of Blue and Gray,
He wanders the battlefields every day,
He searches through the bodies and broken guns,
And wonder which side really won.
He died sometime in the year of eighteen and sixty-three.
Where once stood a grove of mighty oak trees,
Now they are gone and the grass just grows,
Over the bodies of soldiers stacked in rows.
Must his soul wander throughout eternity,
Searching each body to see if it is him?
Oh, it was such a terrible war,
You would think men would fight no more.
Still he wanders from place to place,
In search of the battlefield that he'll see his face,
Oh, to wander forever in eternity's time,
Looking for the battlefield that was his.
If someday, he does find him,
The Lord may say, "Come home, good soldier, home to stay."