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Well, how do you do, private William McBride? Do you mind if I sit here, down by your graveside? And rest for a while, in the warm summer sun I've been walking all day, and I'm nearly done I see by your gravestone, you were only nineteen When you joined the glorious fallen, in nineteen-sixteen Well, I hope you died quick And I hope you died clean Willy McBride, was it slow and obscene? Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did the rifles fire o'er you As they lowered you down? Did the bugles sound the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? And did you leave a wife Or a sweetheart behind? In some loyal heart, is your memory enshrined? Though, you died back in nineteen-sixteen To that loyal heart, are you always nineteen? Or are you a stranger, without even a name? Enshrined forever, behind some glass plane Or in an old photograph Torn, and tattered, and stained Letras de cancionesFaded to yellow, in a brown, leather frame Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did the rifles fire o'er you As they lowered you down? Did the bugles sound the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? The sun shining down On these green fields of France The warm wind blows gently And the red poppies dance The trenches have vanished Long under the plow No gas, and no barbed wire, no guns firing now But here, in this graveyard, that's still no man's land The countless white crosses in mute which now stand To man's blind indifference to his fellow man And to a whole generation who were butchered and damned Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did the rifles fire o'er you As they lowered you down? Did the bugles sound the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? And I can't help but wonder, now Willy McBride Do all those who lie here, know why they died? Did you really believe them, when they told you the cause? Did you really believe that this war would end all wars? Well, the suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain For Willy McBride, it's all happened again And again, and again, and again, and again Did they beat the drums slowly? Did they play the fife lowly? Did the rifles fire o'er you As they lowered you down? Did the bugles sound the Last Post in chorus? Did the pipes play the Flowers of the Forest? From Letras Mania