Halfway down the trail to Hell,
In a shady meadow green
Are the Souls of all dead troopers camped,
Near a good old-time canteen.
And this eternal resting place
Is known as Fiddlers' Green.
Marching past, straight through to Hell
The Infantry are seen.
Accompanied by the Engineers,
Artillery and Marines,
For none but the shades of Cavalrymen
Dismount at Fiddlers' Green.
Though some go curving down the trail
To seek a warmer scene.
No trooper ever gets to Hell
Ere he's emptied his canteen.
And so rides back to drink again
With friends at Fiddlers' Green.
And so when man and horse go down
Beneath a saber keen,
Or in a roaring charge of fierce melee
You stop a bullet clean,
And the hostiles come to get your scalp,
Just empty your canteen,
And put your pistol to your head
And go to Fiddlers' Green
So to SFC Parson, CPL Williams, SFC Suzch, SSG Mitchell, SPC Cardinal, 1LT Adams, 1LT Bryant, CPT Bunting, CPT Garner, CPT Gurbisz, CPT Jensen, 1LT Smith, CPT Mallard, CPT Moshier, and the other 1,343,798 Americans who gave their lives in defense of their nation: some day we'll see you again to have a drink at Fiddler's Green.