Luyện nghe bài hát Greenfields of France

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

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

And did you leave a wife or a behind
In some heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you 19?
Or are you a without even a name,
Forever enshrined behind glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and and stained,

And to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The sun's shining down on these green fields of
The warm wind gently, and the red poppies dance.
The have vanished long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no firing now.
But here in graveyard that's still No Man's Land
The countless white in mute witness stand
To man's blind indifference to his man.
And a whole generation who were 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 really believe that this war 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.