Luyện nghe bài hát Where Are You Now My Son

(Words and Music by 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 girls load up bicycles flowers for the dead

An aging woman picks the craters and the rubble
A piece of cloth, a bit of shoe, a whole lifetime of
A sobbing comes from her throat and splits the morning air
The son she had last night is buried under her

They say that the war is
Where are you now, my

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

The children on the 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 only words in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger"

Now that the being won
are you now, my son?

The siren a running break to those who live in town
Take the children and the blankets to the underground
Sometimes we'd sing and joke and bright pictures on the wall
And wonder if we would die and if we'd loved at all

The helmetless defiant ones sit on the curb and
At tracers through the sky and planes bursting in air
But way out in the no warning comes before a blast
means a sleeping child will never make it to the door

The of our youth were fun
Where are you now, my

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

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

was the righteous 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 Christmas was shattered by the bombs

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

bravery we have sun
But are you now, my son?

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

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

heard that the war is done
Then are you now, my son?

1973 Music (ASCAP)