Song by Gavin Green way and Trevor Horn. Sung by Bryan Adams for the Dreamworks movie Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron.

When the Bugle Blows

A lone soldier, a solitary man, set apart from all others and a life spent isolated from the love a father. What might have been a hero, now sat alone in the woods, an outcast, and a stranger. Defeated at long last, he sits and waits, waits for death to roll in, and finally take him home; the home were he feels he belongs.

A wound in the side, and a gash to the head, nothing very serious, was all he sported, but with grief and despair set heavily upon one's shoulders, even a simple scratch on the arm could bring death knocking after a time, so long as they let it come willingly. To give up, give in, to surrender to defeat, to let desolation and anguish control your mind, this was only the beginning, and yet the end of our secluded soldier.

Sound the bugle now, play it just for me.

As the seasons change, remember how I used to be.

Now I can't go on, I can't even start.

I got nothing left, just an empty heart.

A wound to the side and head can hurt, but nothing like a wounded heart. A disgrace to his father, he felt he failed everyone and with disgust, he sat down on the ground, hand over his side, barely attempting to slow the bleeding, and ignored the tear that crept slowly from his eye and rolled down his cheek. He wondered if it hurt; to die. He didn't care, he would welcome it when it came, then he would not have to suffer through life any more.

I'm a soldier, wounded so I must give up the fight.

There's nothing more for me, lead me away…

Or leave me lying here.

His men would be looking for him. He was their leader, where would they go without their leader? He could be replaced, as he had replaced those who came before him, and they the ones ere they came. He would not be greatly missed. Perhaps at first, but they would adjust, especially his father, no; his father would not grieve for him. He would go out of this world unaided, he needed no one, and they did not need him.

Sound the bugle now, tell them I don't care.

There's not a road I know, that leads to any where.

Without a light I fear that I would stumble in the dark.

Lay right down, decide not to go on.

He thought of all those times they had returned to his city, trumpets blaring, playing the tune of victory, his brother welcoming him home, his father, his father finding something he did wrong, chastising him. He may have been a soldier, but he was still his son. Seems he wasn't a good one, not near up to par as his older brother, least ways not to his father's standards.

He lay on the ground now, thinking of how good it felt, just to hear that victorious sound of coming home echo throughout the city walls. His men loved him, they would follow him everywhere, they had so far. Why would today be any different? They had won the fight some hours ago, he wasn't sure how long ago; he had lost track of time altogether. They would be looking for him now, but they would not find him; he had wandered so far away from the fight, it would be a long time before they reached him.

He heard his name echoing in the woods, perhaps a long time had already gone by. Mayhap he had not wandered as far as he thought. They needed him to lead them back to the city, but would he be there to do it? No, it was too late for that now, he was defeated at last, or was he? The men trusted him, perhaps he simply did not trust himself. Was he truly the coward his father made him out to be, or perhaps he was the man, the soldier his brother and his men submitted to him as. Maybe he would lead them one last time, just one last time to those city gates he called home, and be called a man once again.

Then from on high, somewhere in the distance,

There's a voice that calls, remember who you are.

If you lose yourself, your courage soon will follow.

So be strong tonight, remember who you are.

He heard his name again, panic in the voice, not too far from where he lay. Objects blurred in and out of focus. The blood dribbled in his face obscured his vision slightly, but the world was also slowly starting to spin. 'not yet, please, not yet,' he thought as more blood dripped in his face. He struggled to get back in a sitting position. With a last attempt, he called out weakly to the man.

The voice answered back, unsure if he had heard. Again he called out to the man, somewhat stronger, using every last effort he had, before falling back flat on the ground. A man burst through the trees and ran to his side. Swift eyes from experience saw the open wound bleeding on his side and a hand closed over the wound to staunch the flow as best he could. The man turned and called, "over here!" Within seconds three or four other rangers, it was hard for him to count, appeared from out of the woods. They had found him, but was that what he had really wanted?

Yeah you're a soldier now, fighting in a battle.

To be free once more…

Yeah that's worth fighting for.

He saw their relieved faces, worry still etched around their eyes in fear for their leader's life. He reminded himself that they love and trust him and he thought of the years he had spent at their sides. They needed him as much as he needed them. It was time to go back. He would return to his city and continue to fight for its freedom. He would return, head held high. He was a soldier, and he would still be a soldier when he walked through those gates. Whether his father agreed or not, he was a man. He would lead his men who loved him, and defend his city till the day when the end truly came, but until then, he would march in the front, he would be their leader, and a soldier returning from war, listening when the bugle blows.

…that's worth fighting for.

Song by Gavin Green way and Trevor Horn. Sung by Bryan Adams for Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron.