Green Fields Of France Pat Woods

Well how do you do, Private William McBride
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside
And rest for a while, meet the warm summer sun
I've been walking all day and I'm nearly done
I can see by your gravestone you were only nineteen
When you joined the great falling in 1916
I hope you died well and I hope you died clean
Or William McBride was it slow and obscene?

Did you leave a young wife or a sweetheart behind?
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined
Although you diеd back in 1916
In that faithful heart are you forevеr 19
Or are you a stranger without even a name
And closed down forever behind the glass frame
In an old photograph, torn, battered and stained
And faded to yellow in a brown leather frame

The sun now it shines on the green fields of France
There's a warm summer breeze, it makes the red puppies dance
And look how the sun shines from under the clouds
There's no gas, no barbed wire, there's no gun-firing now
But here in this graveyard there's still no man's land
The countless white crosses stand mute in the sand
To men's blind indifference to his fellow man
To a whole generation that was butchered and damned