Gettysburg

  And with each victory, heart uplifted by unknown wing

  He'd raise his head proudly, and loudly he'd sing:

  “You know, it's really not that hard to be free...

  just float like a butterfly and sting like a bee!”

  But now, the final bell has rung.

  No need to hold your breath.

  Dreams, you know, they die slowly

  and heroes always seem a bit holy

  until they meet their match.

  What's left in the darkness of a lonely arena,

  stands simply the shadow of a solitary ballerina;

  a moment of glory from a passing generation,

  left without heroes, or dreamers, or veneration.

  To them she lifts a torch,

  lifts it high and lifts it bright,

  in memory of a man who knew how to fight.

  Gracefully she bows, as she gently sighs,

  quickly wiping the tear from her eye,

  and proudly she loudly cries:

  “You know, it's really not that hard to be free...

  just float like a butterfly and sting like a bee!”

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