| The strange young man who comes to me
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| A soldier on a three day spree
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| He needs one night’s cheap ecstasy
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| And a woman’s arms to hide him
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| He greets me with a courtly bow
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| And hides his pain by acting proud
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| He drinks too much and he laughs too loud
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| How can I deny him
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| Let us dance beneath the moon
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| I’ll sing to you 'Claire de Lune'
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| The morning always comes too soon
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| But tonight the war is over
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| He speaks to me in schoolboy French
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| Of a soldiers life inside a trench
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| Of the look of death and the ghastly stench
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| I do my best to please him
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| He puts two roses in a vase
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| Two roses sadly out of place
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| Like the gallant smile on his haggard face
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| Playfully I tease him
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| Hold me neath the Paris skies
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| Let’s not talk of how or why
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| Tomorrow’s soon enough to die
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| But tonight the war is over
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| We make love too hard too fast
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| He falls asleep his face a mask
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| He wakes with the shakes and he drinks from his flask
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| I put my arms around him
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| They die in the trenches and they die in the air
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| In Belguim and France the dead are everywhere
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| They die so so fast there’s no time to prepare
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| A decent grave to surround them
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| Old world glory old world fame
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| The old worlds gone gone up in flames
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| Nothing will ever be the same
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| And nothing lasts forever
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| Oh I’d pray for him but I’ve forgotten how
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| And there’s nothing nothing that can save him now
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| There’s always another with the same funny bow
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| And who am I to deny them
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| Tonight the war is over |