Luyện nghe bài hát Greenfields of France

Well, how do you do, Private McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here by your graveside?
And for awhile in the warm summer sun,
I've walking all day, and I'm nearly done.
And I see by gravestone you were only 19
When you joined the fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died
Or, Willie McBride, was it 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 bugles sound The Last in chorus?
Did the pipes the Flowers of the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or a behind
In some loyal heart is memory enshrined?
And, though you died in 1916,
To loyal heart are you forever 19?
Or are you a stranger without a name,
Forever enshrined behind some pane,
In an old photograph, and tattered and stained,

And fading to yellow in a brown leather

The sun's shining on these green fields of France;
The wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no firing now.
But here in this graveyard still No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness
To blind 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 when told you "The Cause?"
Did you believe that this war would end wars?
the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.