| And you say that the battle is over
|
| And you say that the war is all done
|
| Go tell it to those
|
| With the wind in their nose
|
| Who run from the sound of the gun
|
| And write it on the sides
|
| Of the great whaling ships
|
| Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
|
| With the wind in their eyes
|
| It is they who must die
|
| And it’s we who must measure the loss
|
| And you say that the battle is over
|
| And finally the world is at peace
|
| You mean no one is dying
|
| And mothers don’t weep
|
| Or it’s not in the papers at least
|
| There are those who would deal
|
| In the darkness of life
|
| There are those who would tear down the sun
|
| And most men are ruthless
|
| But some will still weep
|
| When the gifts we were given are gone
|
| Now the blame cannot fall
|
| On the heads of a few
|
| It’s become such a part of the race
|
| It’s eternally tragic
|
| That that which is magic
|
| Be killed at the end of the glorious chase
|
| From young seals to great whales
|
| From waters to wood
|
| They will fall just like weeds in the wind
|
| With fur coats and perfumes
|
| And trophies on walls
|
| What a hell of a race to call men
|
| And you say that the battle is over
|
| And you say that the war is all done
|
| Go tell it to those
|
| With the wind in their nose
|
| Who run from the sound of the gun
|
| And write it on the sides
|
| Of the great whaling ships
|
| Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
|
| With the wind in their eyes
|
| It is they who must die
|
| And it’s we who must measure the loss
|
| With the wind in their eyes
|
| It is they who must die
|
| And it’s we who must measure the cost |