Joan Baez - Where Are You Now My Son - Текст песни

(Words and Music by Joan Baez) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yours was the righteous gun 
Where are you now, my son? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 1973 Chandos Music (ASCAP)