I can hear the heavy marching feet
of the Souljers of the East
     as behind them bridges burn.

In regimented visions of defeat
I flee these Souljers of the East:
     Fortresses fall at every turn.

Forward, ever onward this corps d'elete
machinelike marching Souljers of the East
     bringing lessons I must learn.

Buffoon smiles like bayonets bittersweet
fixed and worn by the Souljers of the East:
     My companions of the nocturne.

Greatcoats worn in this desert heat
not out of place on the Souljers of the East:
     Cooler uniforms they will spurn.

Bivouacks around me permit no retreat.
Battle-hardened Souljers of the East
     complete their long sojourn.

Officers exhort victory as they eat.
Glory fills the hearts of the Souljers of the East:
     Food and story now they adjurn.

Round every fire waits an empty seat
provided by these Souljers of the East.
     No guest ever to return.

Weary men consume their nightly treat.
The cure for lonely Souljers of the East
     is bottled womanly concern.

Into the firelight steps one never before beat.
Receiving the toast of the Souljers of the East
     his stomach ceases to churn.

Hard found victory final and complete
around the fire settles the new Souljer of the East.
     For the life-ending life one may yet yearn.