He was just a boy of sixteen
When he joined the Union army.
He had a drum and a pair of sticks
And a dream of glory and victory.
He marched along with the soldiers,
Keeping time with his steady beat.
He saw the smoke and the fire
And the blood on the fields of Gettysburg.
Now he haunts the battlefield,
Playing his drum for eternity.
He\'s the ghost of the drummer boy;
The lonely spirit of Gettysburg.
He never fired a shot or swung a sword,
But he gave his life for his cause.
He was caught in the crossfire
On the third and final day.
He fell down with his drum beside him
And his sticks still in his hands.
He never got to see his home again
Or the end of the war he fought in,
Now he haunts the battlefield,
Playing his drum for eternity.
He\'s the ghost of the drummer boy;
The lonely spirit of Gettysburg.
Some say they hear him at night,
When the moon is full and bright.
They hear his drum echoing in the air;
They feel his presence everywhere.
He\'s still looking for his comrades.
He\'s still waiting for his orders.
He\'s still hoping for some peace.
He\'s still trapped in his memories.
Now he haunts the battlefield,
Playing his drum for eternity.
He\'s the ghost of the drummer boy;
The lonely spirit of Gettysburg.
He\'s the ghost of the drummer boy;
The saddest song of Gettysburg.