I'm writin' this letter, my darlin, from high on a hill.
We've been marchin' ten days and we're just outside Hawkinsville.
It's been snowin' all night and we ain't got no more kersosene.
It's colder than hell,
Hope you're doin' well,
Josephine.
There's a fever in camp and our boys are too sick to fight.
We done lost ol' Calvin
