When the war began as brothers we marched out
And as soldiers we marched on,
Taking the high road side by side.
At the end of the war,
When the battling was good and done,
The final words he said on the high road,
Ragged whispers though they were,
They rung clear to my soul,
And haunted me all through the journey home.
As I walk the high road home,
The words sound out again,
Like a bell in my thoughts as they sing their song.
“I’ll take the high road,
And you’ll take the low road,
And I’ll get to Scotland before you.”
As I hear these words,
I know them to be true,
For his soul rides the low road,
While I trod the high road.
As we seek out our home,
Where our hearts yearn to be,
I feel no regrets and neither does he.
As I walk in the door of the home I once knew,
The quiet and the empty make me feel like a stranger.
When Mother hears the door close,
She runs into the room and embraces me.
There are tears down her cheeks
And a smile on her face,
As she points me to his grave.
I took the high road and he took the low road,
And he got to Scotland before me.
May you rest in peace dear Brother.
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