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And though the fires are burning |
|
Under the pillars of learning |
|
I hear the wind is still howling |
|
"go home" |
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And looking out of your window |
|
You see a brave new tomorrow |
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And no one is standing in your way |
|
When everyting is done |
|
The war is never won |
|
He's standing all alone |
|
The russian winds blow cold |
|
His story must be told |
|
The great one-handed brag |
|
Through all the bodies decaying |
|
You come up smelling of roses |
|
You take the final decision |
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To carry on |
|
You think of sweet josephine |
|
Back home where fields were green |
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And no sweat, no blood, no stench, |
|
No mortal coil. |
|
When everything is done |
|
The war is never won |
|
He's standing all alone |
|
The russian winds blow cold |
|
His story must be told |
|
The great one-handed brag |
|
(verse en francais) |
|
( Roughly translates as: |
|
In colorful blue |
|
On the big oceans |
|
I hear the wind blow |
|
Telling me |
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It's the retreat ) |
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Oh |
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And the boys are all in retreat |
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You'd better wise up and face defeat |
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And half a million men lie dying |
|
When everyting is done |
|
The war is never won |
|
He's standing all alone |
|
The russian winds blow cold |
|
The story must be told |
|
The great one-handed brag |
