My silent warriors are no more,
Their grandeur given to some strange hiding place
Where only the dust of battles fought in years past
Appears on their unstained uniforms.
Their cannon no longer roar
With the sounds that sent men sprawling,
Nor fill the air with the fruits
Of their harvest.
Their gallant charges are only flickering memories
With the sound of the bugle
And the fall of each man;
As they rushed the mighty fortress
Of the living room chair.