Luyện nghe bài hát Greenfields of France

Well, how do you do, Private McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down here by graveside?
And rest for awhile in the 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 hope you died quick and I you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and

Did they Beat the drum slowly, did the play the lowly?
Did the fir o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles The Last Post in chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers of the

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

And fading to yellow in a leather frame?

The sun's shining 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 barbed wire, no firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's
The countless white in mute witness stand
To blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were and damned.

And I help but wonder, no Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here know why they
Did you really believe them when they 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 Willie McBride, it all again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.