Luyện nghe bài hát Where Are You Now My Son

(Words and by Joan Baez)

It's walking to the that always makes me cry
I've met so few folks in my who weren't afraid to die
But dawn bleeds with the people here and skies are red
As young load up bicycles with flowers for the dead

An aging woman picks along the craters and the
A piece of cloth, a bit of shoe, a lifetime of trouble
A sobbing chant comes from her throat and splits the air
The single son she had last is buried under her

They say that the war is
are you now, my son?

An old man with unsteady gait and beard of white
Bent to the ground with arms outstretched in his plight
I took his hand to steady him, he stood and did not
But smiled and wept and bowed and softly, "Danke shoen"

The on the roadsides of the villages and towns
Would stand us laughing as we stood like giant clowns
The mourning told whom they'd lost by last night's phantom messenger
And they spoke their only in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger"

Now that the war's won
Where are you now, my

The siren gives a running to those who live in town
Take the children and the to the concrete underground
Sometimes we'd and joke and paint bright pictures on the wall
And wonder if we would die well and if we'd at all

The helmetless defiant sit on the curb and stare
At flashing through the sky and planes bursting in air
But way out in the villages no warning comes a blast
That means a sleeping child never make it to the door

The days of our youth fun
are you now, my son?

From the distant cabins in the sky no man hears the sound
Of death on earth from his own bombs, six pilots were down
Next day six hulking bandaged men dazzled by a room
Of newsmen. Sally keep the faith, hope this war ends soon

In a damaged prison camp where they no longer had
shook their heads, what irony, we thought peace was at hand
The preacher read a Christmas prayer and the men kneeled on the
Then sheepishly asked me to sing "They Drove Old Down"

Yours was the gun
Where are you now, my

We gathered in the celebrating Chrismas Eve
The French, the Poles, the Indians, and Vietnamese
The tiny tree our had fixed sweetened familiar psalms
But the most sacred of prayers was shattered by the bombs

So back into the shelter where two lovely rose
And with a brilliance and a fierceness and a gentleness which
The rest of us to as their voices soared with joy
every bomb that fell that night upon Hanoi

With bravery we sun
But where are you now, my

Oh people of the shelters a gift you've given me
To smile at me and quietly let me share agony
And I can bow in utter humbleness and ask
Forgiveness and forgiveness for the things we've to pass

The pyjama'd culture that we tried to kill with pellet holes
And rows of tiny coffins paid for with our souls
Have built a seldom seen in women and in men
And the white of Bac Mai will surely blossom once again

I've that the war is done
where are you now, my son?

1973 Music (ASCAP)