The Saints Go Marching On

Dream 5-3-14

There's a storm coming.

War has erupted in Russia. Our troops flood the grounds to put out the fire. I find myself in an armored military vehicle. The soldiers and I exit the car. I stand with hundreds of American soldiers along a country road in Russia facing a field. On the other side of the area are hundreds of Russian troops. We can't see them, but we know they're there. 

The American troops start walking across the field in their battle stance. As they walk, a low manly murmur comes over the crowd. Hundreds of men singing, "The saints go marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah. The saints go marching one by one hurrah, hurrah. And they all go marching down to the ground to get out of the rain. Boom, boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom, boom." 

A song that I haven't heard since the days of my youth. When I sang it, it was about ants, not saints. The men march on.

A few soldiers and I drive up the road a bit to manage the situation. The singing stops.

The soldiers on both sides begin to fire at each other. For several minutes there is nothing but the sound of gunfire and the smell of gunpowder. Smoke fills the air around the battleground. The shooting slowly drizzles down to a few pops here and a few bangs there until finally there is nothing.

Suddenly, as if it were the chorus of victory, a full metal choir, we hear it. Off in the distance, hundreds of voices singing, "The saints go marching one by one hurrah, hurrah. Dream ends.

I wake up.