Luyện nghe bài hát Greenfields of France

Well, how do you do, William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your
And rest for in the warm summer sun,
been walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by your gravestone you were 19
When you the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they the drum slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir you as they lowered you down?
Did the sound The Last Post in chorus?
Did the play the Flowers of the Forest?

And did you a wife or a sweetheart behind
In some loyal heart is your memory
And, you died back in 1916,
To that loyal are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger even a name,
Forever enshrined some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and and stained,

And fading to yellow in a brown frame?

The sun's shining down on these fields of France;
The wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no firing now.
But in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The white crosses in mute witness stand
To man's indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who butchered and damned.

And I can't but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie know why they died?
Did you really believe them they told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end
Well the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the
The killing, the dying, it was all in vain,
For McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.