I was the first fruits of the battle of Missionary Ridge. 
When I felt the bullet enter my heart 
I wished I had staid at home and gone to jail 
For stealing the hogs of Curl Trenary, 
Instead of running away and joining the army, 
Rather a thousand times the county jail 
Than to lie under this marble figure with wings, 
And this granite pedestal 
Bearing the words 'Pro Patria.' 
What do they mean, anyway?