Luyện nghe bài hát Greenfields of France

Well, how do you do, Private McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by your
And rest for awhile in the warm sun,
I've been walking all day, and I'm done.
And I see by your 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 Beat the slowly, did the play the pipes lowly?
Did the rifles fir o'er you as they you down?
Did the bugles sound The Last Post in
Did the play the Flowers of the Forest?

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

And to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The shining down on these green fields of France;
The wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished under the plow;
No gas and no wire, no guns firing now.
But here in graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless crosses in mute witness stand
To man's blind to his fellow man.
And a whole who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder, no McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they
Did you really believe them when told you "The Cause?"
Did you really believe this war would end wars?
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.