Like soldiers in a row br They stand or rather, hang, br Trying to cling to life, br But they keep on slipping. br Their demise may be slow br Yet I know they must die br For their blood is dripping. br Drip by drip, drip by drip br Their short life slips away. br Some are lost in the heat of day br As true soldiers are lost br In the heat of battle. br The nighttime comes and they br Regroup, regain some strength. br Not many die at night br - But with the morning light br They must again be wary br For they are nothing more br Than icicles of February.