Luyện nghe bài hát Where Are You Now My Son

(Words and by Joan Baez)

It's walking to the battleground that makes me cry
I've met so few folks in my time who afraid to die
But dawn bleeds with the people here and morning are red
As young girls 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 whole of trouble
A chant 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 unsteady gait and beard of ancient white
Bent to the ground with arms outstretched faltering in his
I his hand to steady 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 laughing as we stood like clowns
The mourning bands told whom they'd lost by last night's phantom
And they spoke their only in English, "Johnson, Nixon, Kissinger"

Now that the being won
Where are you now, my

The siren gives a running break to 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 helmetless defiant 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 of our youth were 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 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 prison camp where they no longer had command
They shook their heads, what irony, we peace was at hand
The read a Christmas prayer and the men kneeled 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, Cubans and
The tiny tree our host had sweetened familiar psalms
But the sacred of Christmas prayers was shattered by the bombs

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

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

Oh people of the shelters what a you've given me
To smile at me and let me share your agony
And I can only bow in utter and ask
Forgiveness and forgiveness for the things we've brought to

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

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

1973 Chandos (ASCAP)