| And though the fires are burning
|
| Under the pillars of learning
|
| I hear the wind is still howling
|
| «go home»
|
| And looking out of your window
|
| You see a brave new tomorrow
|
| 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
|
| To carry on You think of sweet josephine
|
| Back home where fields were green
|
| 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 It’s the retreat)
|
| Oh And the boys are all in retreat
|
| You’d better wise up and face defeat
|
| 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 |