My bayonet is made of steel

My bayonet is made of steel,
She glitters in the morning light,
I wonder now how it would feel,
To rendezvous with her at night,

My musket barrel sings of oak,
Her voice is sharp and bittersweet,
Through crimson-violet clouds of smoke,
A passerby can taste her treat,

My uniform is cotton-born,
She smells of blood and sugar cane,
Corrupted, drenched and weather-worn,
Her lips are wet from morning rain,

My enemy is o’er that hill,
With tearing eyes and bleeding heart,
For soon it will be time to kill,
I’d thought it different at the start…