Spirits roam the blood-soaked terrain,
From Antietam’s hills to Shiloh’s plains.
They are locked in a dimension
That is not of their volition.
Their main emotion is Confusion,
For their lives are an illusion.
Some inhabit only their spot of death;
Others endlessly march with no rest.
They need release from this exiled plane.
We need to help them to their final realm.
I want them to cease their timeless wait.
I want them to pass through the Pearly Gates.