Last Goodbye 1863

words & music by Chris LaVancher © 2012

The smoke is rising in the distance
I hear the drums across the field
Run and fetch my coat
There’s not much time to waist

I heard we’re moving out to Vicksburg
I don’t know where that is
I hope it’s not too far a way
Kiss the boys and tell them I’ll be home for Christmas
Dry your eyes its ok

There’s money in a box
Underneath the floor boards
The loose ones by the stove
Don’t forget to pay the mill for their labor
On thirty bags of grain

The bugle’s calling now
I’ve got to go
Hold me one last time
I will always love you
I will always love you
I will always love … you.