Luyện nghe bài hát Greenfields of France

Well, how do you do, William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit down by your graveside?
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 glorious in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and

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

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

And to yellow in a brown leather frame?

The sun's shining on these green fields of France;
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 this graveyard that's No Man's Land
The countless white crosses in mute witness
To blind indifference to his fellow man.
And a generation who were butchered and damned.

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