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 morning are red
As young girls load up with flowers for the dead

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

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

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 smiled and wept and and mumbled softly, "Danke shoen"

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

Now the war's being 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 and if we'd loved at all

The defiant ones sit on the curb and stare
At tracers flashing the sky and planes bursting in air
But way out in the villages no warning before a blast
That means a sleeping will never make it to the door

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

the distant cabins in the sky where 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. keep the faith, let's hope this war ends soon

In a damaged camp where they no longer had command
They shook heads, what irony, we thought peace was at hand
The preacher read a Christmas prayer and the men 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 host had fixed sweetened psalms
But the most sacred of Christmas was shattered by the bombs

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

With we have sun
But where are you now, my

Oh people of the shelters what a gift given me
To at me and quietly let me share your agony
And I can only bow in utter 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 we've paid for our souls
Have built a spirit seldom in women and in men
And the white flower of Bac Mai will surely once again

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

1973 Music (ASCAP)