You Say The Battle Is Over 歌词

歌曲	You Say The Battle Is Over
歌手	John Denver
专辑	The Wildlife Concert
下载	Image LRC TXT

	Lyrics：David Mallett Music：David Mallett
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And you say that the war is all done-
	Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
	Who run from the sound of the gun,
	And write it on the sides of the great whaling-ships,
	Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed-
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die
	And it's we who must measure the loss.
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And finally the world is at peace-
	You mean no one is dying, and mothers don't weep,
	Or it's not in the papers, at least.
	There are those who would deal in the darkness of life,
	There are those who would tear down the sun,
	And most men are ruthless, but some will still weep
	When the gifts we were given are gone.
	Now the blame cannot fall on the heads of a few,
	It's become such a part of the race;
	It's eternally tragic for that which is magic
	To be killed at the end of the glorious chase.
	From young seals to great whales,
	From waters to woods,
	They will fall just like weeds in the wind;
	With fur coats, and perfumes, and trophies on walls:
	What a hell of a race to call men.
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And you say that the war is all done-
	Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
	Who run from the sound of the gun.
	And write it on the sides of the great whaling-ships,
	Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed;
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
	And it's we who must measure the loss.
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
	And it's we who must measure the cost.

	Lyrics: David Mallett Music: David Mallett
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And you say that the war is all done
	Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
	Who run from the sound of the gun,
	And write it on the sides of the great whalingships,
	Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die
	And it' s we who must measure the loss.
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And finally the world is at peace
	You mean no one is dying, and mothers don' t weep,
	Or it' s not in the papers, at least.
	There are those who would deal in the darkness of life,
	There are those who would tear down the sun,
	And most men are ruthless, but some will still weep
	When the gifts we were given are gone.
	Now the blame cannot fall on the heads of a few,
	It' s become such a part of the race
	It' s eternally tragic for that which is magic
	To be killed at the end of the glorious chase.
	From young seals to great whales,
	From waters to woods,
	They will fall just like weeds in the wind
	With fur coats, and perfumes, and trophies on walls:
	What a hell of a race to call men.
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And you say that the war is all done
	Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
	Who run from the sound of the gun.
	And write it on the sides of the great whalingships,
	Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
	And it' s we who must measure the loss.
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
	And it' s we who must measure the cost.

	Lyrics: David Mallett Music: David Mallett
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And you say that the war is all done
	Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
	Who run from the sound of the gun,
	And write it on the sides of the great whalingships,
	Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die
	And it' s we who must measure the loss.
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And finally the world is at peace
	You mean no one is dying, and mothers don' t weep,
	Or it' s not in the papers, at least.
	There are those who would deal in the darkness of life,
	There are those who would tear down the sun,
	And most men are ruthless, but some will still weep
	When the gifts we were given are gone.
	Now the blame cannot fall on the heads of a few,
	It' s become such a part of the race
	It' s eternally tragic for that which is magic
	To be killed at the end of the glorious chase.
	From young seals to great whales,
	From waters to woods,
	They will fall just like weeds in the wind
	With fur coats, and perfumes, and trophies on walls:
	What a hell of a race to call men.
	And you say that the battle is over,
	And you say that the war is all done
	Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
	Who run from the sound of the gun.
	And write it on the sides of the great whalingships,
	Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
	And it' s we who must measure the loss.
	With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
	And it' s we who must measure the cost.

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