In nineteen hundred and forty-eight
The Spearheaders met first, but some were late
To join the group that meets each year
To laugh and talk and shed a tear
For those we left on some distant shore
Or some who've just recently gone on before.
Each year the Spearhead ranks get thinner
As a few more fall by the wayside
Unable to answer roll call, when the 3rd Armored meets
And there is no way to stem the tide
That sweeps us on after three score and ten
Leaving only a few of the hardiest men.
They say Old Soldiers never die
That they just fade away
It must be true, for the Spirit of those we knew
Is surely here today
Making those remaining ever closer
As the years continue to roll away.
As I look into the future
Somewhere around twenty-ten
The last Spearhead Reunion
Will eventually have to end
There'll be no one left to command the Troops
and no Troops left to command.
Who'll be the one to answer
The last Spearheader call?
Will the wives and kids continue
After the rest of us fall?
There will only be a hardy few who go past 100 years old
I do not envy those who are last to pay that toll.
Whoever you are, Dear Friend, on that last day
Look towards Heaven and you will see
Somewhere beyond the Milky Way
The greatest Reunion we have ever known
Will already be in progress
All ranks complete -- marching on and on and on.