Luyện nghe bài hát Where Are You Now My Son

(Words and by Joan Baez)

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

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

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

An old man with gait and beard of ancient white
Bent to the with arms outstretched faltering 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 on the roadsides of the villages and towns
Would stand around us as we stood like giant clowns
The mourning bands told whom they'd lost by night's phantom messenger
And they spoke their only in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger"

Now the war's being won
are you now, my son?

The siren gives a running break to those who in town
the children and the blankets 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 loved at all

The helmetless defiant sit on the curb and stare
At tracers flashing through the sky and bursting in air
But way out in the villages no warning comes before a
That means a sleeping child will make it to the door

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

From the distant cabins in the sky where no man hears the
Of death on from his own bombs, six pilots were shot down
Next day six hulking bandaged men were dazzled by a
Of newsmen. Sally keep the faith, let's 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 on the ground
Then sheepishly asked me to sing "They Drove Old Down"

Yours was the gun
are you now, my son?

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 prayers was shattered by the bombs

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

bravery we have sun
But where are you now, my

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

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

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

1973 Music (ASCAP)