They think they know what we go by.
Do they know what's underneath my skin?
Is happiness what my skin shows in my soul and I?
They think I don't mourn for what I've been!
...
Give me the scorn of the stars and a peak defiant;
Wail of the pines and a wind with the shout of a giant;
Night and a trail unknown and a heart reliant.
Give me to live and love in the old, bold fashion;
A soldier's billet at night and a soldier's ration;
A heart that leaps to the fight with a soldier's passion.