Where Are You Now, My Son? 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?