The first time it was fathers,
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
You can only just remember
The tears your mother shed
As they sat and read their papers
Through the lists and lists of dead.
And the gold frames held the photographs
That mothers kissed each night.
And the door frames held the shocked
And silent strangers from the fight.
The first time it was fathers,
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
It was twenty-one years later,
With children of your own.
The trumpets sounded once again,
And the soldier boys were gone.
So you made their guns and drove their trucks
And tended to their wounds.
And at night you kissed their photographs
And prayed for safe returns.
And after it was over
You had to learn again
To be just wives and mothers,
When you'd done the work of men.
So you worked to help the needy
And you never trod on toes.
And the photos on the pianos
Struck a happy family pose.
The first time it was fathers,
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
Then your daughters grew to women
And your little boys to men.
And you prayed that you were dreaming
When the call came up again.
But you proudly smiled and held your tears
As they bravely waved goodbye.
And the photos on the mantel pieces
Always made you cry.
And now you're getting older
And in time the photos fade.
And in widowhood you sit back
And reflect on the parade.
Of the passing of your memories
As your daughters change their lives,
Seeing more to their existence
Than just mothers, daughters, wives.
The first time it was fathers,
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
And you believed them
When they said you were
Just mothers, daughters, wives.
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
You can only just remember
The tears your mother shed
As they sat and read their papers
Through the lists and lists of dead.
And the gold frames held the photographs
That mothers kissed each night.
And the door frames held the shocked
And silent strangers from the fight.
The first time it was fathers,
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
It was twenty-one years later,
With children of your own.
The trumpets sounded once again,
And the soldier boys were gone.
So you made their guns and drove their trucks
And tended to their wounds.
And at night you kissed their photographs
And prayed for safe returns.
And after it was over
You had to learn again
To be just wives and mothers,
When you'd done the work of men.
So you worked to help the needy
And you never trod on toes.
And the photos on the pianos
Struck a happy family pose.
The first time it was fathers,
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
Then your daughters grew to women
And your little boys to men.
And you prayed that you were dreaming
When the call came up again.
But you proudly smiled and held your tears
As they bravely waved goodbye.
And the photos on the mantel pieces
Always made you cry.
And now you're getting older
And in time the photos fade.
And in widowhood you sit back
And reflect on the parade.
Of the passing of your memories
As your daughters change their lives,
Seeing more to their existence
Than just mothers, daughters, wives.
The first time it was fathers,
The last time it was sons
And in between your husbands
Marched away with drums and guns.
And you never thought to question.
You just went on with your lives.
Cause all they taught you who to be,
Was mothers, daughters, wives.
And you believed them
When they said you were
Just mothers, daughters, wives.
Language: Italian
Versione italiana di Riccardo Venturi [2003]
Riveduta il 24 aprile 2009
Riveduta il 24 aprile 2009
MADRI, FIGLIE, SPOSE
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
Ricordate appena
le lacrime versate dalle vostre madri
mentre sedevano a leggere le lettere
tra elenchi e elenchi di morti.
E le cornici dorate serbavano le foto
che le madri baciavano ogni sera,
e le porte rinserravano gli estranei
sconvolti e silenziosi tornati dalla guerra.
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
Accadde ventuno anni dopo,
quando già avevate i vostri figli.
Le trombe suonarono ancora
e i ragazzi se ne andaron via soldati.
E voi gli fabbricavate le armi e guidavate i camion,
e gli fasciavate le ferite.
La sera baciavate le loro fotografie
e pregavate perché tornassero sani e salvi.
E dopo che fu finita
doveste imparare di nuovo
a essere spose e madri,
dopo aver lavorato come uomini.
Così aiutavate quelli che avevano bisogno
e non pestavate mai i piedi a nessuno.
E le foto sui pianoforti
mostravano una famiglia felice in posa.
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
Poi le vostre figlie sono diventate donne
e i vostri bambini degli uomini.
E avete pregato che fosse un sogno
quando sono stati di nuovo richiamati.
Ma, fieramente, avete sorriso e trattenuto le lacrime
mentre loro salutavano valorosamente sventolando i fazzoletti.
E le fotografie sulle cappe del camino
vi facevano sempre piangere.
E ora state invecchiando,
e, col tempo, le foto si scoloriscono.
E, da vedove, vi rimettete a sedere
e ripensate a tutto quel che è successo.
E i vostri ricordi sfilano uno dopo l'altro
mentre le vostre figlie cambiano vita,
pensando a qualcosa di più per le loro esistenze
che essere madri, figlie e spose.
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
E voi gli avete creduto
Quando vi hanno detto
Di essere solo madri, figlie e spose.
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
Ricordate appena
le lacrime versate dalle vostre madri
mentre sedevano a leggere le lettere
tra elenchi e elenchi di morti.
E le cornici dorate serbavano le foto
che le madri baciavano ogni sera,
e le porte rinserravano gli estranei
sconvolti e silenziosi tornati dalla guerra.
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
Accadde ventuno anni dopo,
quando già avevate i vostri figli.
Le trombe suonarono ancora
e i ragazzi se ne andaron via soldati.
E voi gli fabbricavate le armi e guidavate i camion,
e gli fasciavate le ferite.
La sera baciavate le loro fotografie
e pregavate perché tornassero sani e salvi.
E dopo che fu finita
doveste imparare di nuovo
a essere spose e madri,
dopo aver lavorato come uomini.
Così aiutavate quelli che avevano bisogno
e non pestavate mai i piedi a nessuno.
E le foto sui pianoforti
mostravano una famiglia felice in posa.
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
Poi le vostre figlie sono diventate donne
e i vostri bambini degli uomini.
E avete pregato che fosse un sogno
quando sono stati di nuovo richiamati.
Ma, fieramente, avete sorriso e trattenuto le lacrime
mentre loro salutavano valorosamente sventolando i fazzoletti.
E le fotografie sulle cappe del camino
vi facevano sempre piangere.
E ora state invecchiando,
e, col tempo, le foto si scoloriscono.
E, da vedove, vi rimettete a sedere
e ripensate a tutto quel che è successo.
E i vostri ricordi sfilano uno dopo l'altro
mentre le vostre figlie cambiano vita,
pensando a qualcosa di più per le loro esistenze
che essere madri, figlie e spose.
La prima volta erano i padri,
l'ultima volta erano i figli
e, tra i due, i mariti
sono partiti marciando con armi e tamburi
e non avete mai fatto domande.
Non avete fatto altro che continuare la vostra vita
perché vi hanno insegnato ad essere solo
madri, figlie e spose.
E voi gli avete creduto
Quando vi hanno detto
Di essere solo madri, figlie e spose.
Language: French
Version française de Riccardo Venturi
24 avril 2009
24 avril 2009
“J'ai écrit cette chanson pour ma mère (quoique pas tous les détails soient exactes à son égard), et pour toutes les femmes da sa génération qui me semble-t-il ont passé une bonne part de leur vie dans l'attente que leurs hommes reviennent de la guerre. Avec leur travail durant la IIème guerre mondiale, ces femmes ont montré qu'elles pouvaient faire n'importe quel travail et étaient parfaitement capables d'être indépendentes. Ma génération leur en sait gré pour l'exemple qu'elles ont donné, même si elle n'avaient pas beacoup de choix à ce temps-là, et j'espère que nous avons bien appri la leçon. C'est la chanson que je préfère parmi tous celles que j'ai écrit.” (Judy Small Songbook, 53)
MÈRES, FILLES, ÉPOUSES
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Vous vous souvenez à peine
des larmes que vos mères ont versées
quand elles s'asseyaient pour lire les lettres
parmi des tas de listes de victimes.
Et les cadres dorés conservaient les photos
que les mères embrassaient chaque soir,
et les portes renfermaient les étrangers
bouleversés et silencieux revenus de la guerre.
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Il arriva vingt-un ans après,
quand vous aviez déjà vos enfants,
que les trompettes sonnèrent à nouveau
et les garçons partirent à la guerre.
Et vous fabriquiez leurs armes, conduisiez leurs camions
et bandiez leurs blessures;
le soir, vous embrassiez leurs photos
et priiez pour qu'ils reviennent sains et saufs.
Quand ce fut terminé
vous dûtes rapprendre
à n'être que des mères et des épouses
après avoir travaillé comme des hommes.
Alors vous aidiez ceux qui avaient besoin
et ne marchiez jamais sur les pieds de personne.
Et les photos sur les pianos
montraient une famille heureuse en pose.
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Puis vos filles sont devenues femmes
et vos enfants sont devenus hommes,
et vous avez prié que ce soit un rêve
quand ils ont été encore mobilisés.
Mais, fièrement, vous avez souris et retenu vos larmes
quand ils saluaient bravement en agitant les mouchoirs,
et les photos sur les cheminées
vous faisaient toujours pleurer.
Vous devenez vieilles, maintenant,
et le temps décolore les photos.
Vous vous asseyez encore, veuves,
et repensez à tout ce qu'il est arrivé.
Et vous souvenirs défilent un après l'autre
tandis que vos filles changent leur vie
et songent à quelque chose en plus pour leurs existences
qu'être des mères, des filles, des épouses.
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Et vous leur avez cru
quand ils vous ont dit
de n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Vous vous souvenez à peine
des larmes que vos mères ont versées
quand elles s'asseyaient pour lire les lettres
parmi des tas de listes de victimes.
Et les cadres dorés conservaient les photos
que les mères embrassaient chaque soir,
et les portes renfermaient les étrangers
bouleversés et silencieux revenus de la guerre.
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Il arriva vingt-un ans après,
quand vous aviez déjà vos enfants,
que les trompettes sonnèrent à nouveau
et les garçons partirent à la guerre.
Et vous fabriquiez leurs armes, conduisiez leurs camions
et bandiez leurs blessures;
le soir, vous embrassiez leurs photos
et priiez pour qu'ils reviennent sains et saufs.
Quand ce fut terminé
vous dûtes rapprendre
à n'être que des mères et des épouses
après avoir travaillé comme des hommes.
Alors vous aidiez ceux qui avaient besoin
et ne marchiez jamais sur les pieds de personne.
Et les photos sur les pianos
montraient une famille heureuse en pose.
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Puis vos filles sont devenues femmes
et vos enfants sont devenus hommes,
et vous avez prié que ce soit un rêve
quand ils ont été encore mobilisés.
Mais, fièrement, vous avez souris et retenu vos larmes
quand ils saluaient bravement en agitant les mouchoirs,
et les photos sur les cheminées
vous faisaient toujours pleurer.
Vous devenez vieilles, maintenant,
et le temps décolore les photos.
Vous vous asseyez encore, veuves,
et repensez à tout ce qu'il est arrivé.
Et vous souvenirs défilent un après l'autre
tandis que vos filles changent leur vie
et songent à quelque chose en plus pour leurs existences
qu'être des mères, des filles, des épouses.
La première fois, c'étaient vos pères,
la dernière, c'étaient vos enfants;
entre le deux, vos époux sont partis
en marchant avec armes et tambours,
et vous n'avez jamais posé de questions.
Vous avez continué votre vie
car on vous avait enseigné
à n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
Et vous leur avez cru
quand ils vous ont dit
de n'être que des mères, filles et épouses.
×
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Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
[1982]
Lyrics and music by Judy Small
Testo e musica di Judy Small
"I wrote this song for my mother (though not all its details are true for her), and for all the women of her generation who, it seemed to me, spent a large part of their lives waiting for their menfolk to come home from war. They were the women whose work during World War II showed us that women could do any kind of job and were perfectly capable of independence. For that example, although they had little choice at the time, my generation is grateful to them and I hope we have learned the lesson well. This remains my favourite of all my songs." (Judy Small Songbook 53)
"Ho scritto questa canzone per mia madre (sebbene non tutti i particolari siano esatti a suo proposito), e per tutte le donne della sua generazione che, mi sembrava, hanno trascorso larga parte della loro vita ad aspettare che i loro uomini tornassero dalla guerra. Sono state le donne che, col loro lavoro durante la II guerra mondiale, hanno mostrano che le donne potevano fare qualsiasi tipo di lavoro ed erano capaci di essere perfettamente indipendenti. Per l'esempio che hanno dato, nonostante all'epoca avessero poca scelta, la mia generazione è loro grata e spero che abbiamo imparato bene la lezione. Tra tutte le mie canzoni, rimane quella che preferisco." (Judy Small Songbook 53)
"Judy Small is one of the most influential singer-songwriters to come out of Australia. Her songs, which include one of the hardest-hitting looks at the effects of war, "Mothers, Daughters, Wives" and the ecologically-minded tune, have been covered by Eric Bogle, The McCalmans, The Corries, Quote "writer of some of the most powerful social and political songs of our time"
Judy Small è un'autentica leggenda del cantautorato australiano, ma il suo nome continua a non essere noto al di fuori di quel paese nonostante Mothers, Daughters, Wives sia stata ripresa e interpretata da Eric Bogle, Arlo Guthrie, Pete Seeger, The McCalmans, Ronny Gilbert e The Corries.
La canzone è ascoltabile integralmente (ma non scaricabile) nell'interpretazione originale di Judy Small da questa pagina della Danish Peace Academy dedicata al Greenham Common Women's Peace Camp Songbook, di cui fa parte. [CCG/AWS Staff]
On 1 April 1983, tens of thousands of protestors formed a 14 mile human chain from Greenham to the Aldermaston nuclear power station and the ordnance factory at Burghfield.
On 4 April 1984, the women were evicted from the Common by Newbury District Council. However by nightfall the women all returned to reform the camp.
The last missiles left the camp in 1991 but the camp remained in place until 2000 after protestors won the right to house a memorial on the site.
en.wikipedia
Il Campo della Pace delle Donne di Greenham Common era un Campo della Pace formato in segno di protesta contro le armi nucleari in corso di installazione presso la base aerea della RAF di Greenham Common, nel Berkshire, in Inghilterra. Il Campo ebbe inizio nel settembre del 1981 dopo che un gruppo gallese, chiamato "Women for Life on Earth", era arrivato a Greenham per protestare contro la decisione del governo britannico di consentire l'installazione dei missili Cruise.
Il 1° aprile 1983, decine di migliaia di manifestanti formarono una catena umana lunga quasi 20 chilometri da Greenham fino alla centrale nucleare di Aldermaston ed alla fabbrica di pezzi di artiglieria di Burghfield.
Il 4 aprile 1984 il campo fu fatto sgomberare dal Consiglio Comunale di Newbury; ma, la sera stessa, tornarono tutte quante per riformarlo.
Gli ultimi missili lasciarono la base nel 1991, ma il Campo delle Donne per la Pace rimase sul luogo fino al 2000, quando le sue promotrici e partecipanti ottennero il diritto di erigervi un monumento commemorativo.
This song book is a reprint ... of a reprint, beginning its life with us in Manchester over a year ago! Remember the little yellow flip-over? We began with a copy of one of the many personal collections kept by Greenham women around the world. Other songs were added. It was completed in time for the last December 12th.
Later, came the comments: why not an index? no music? no guitar chords?
Prompted by a need to challenge the invitation and sponsorship of a MAN to represent women's experiences in a musical narration - 'Gates of Greenham' at Manchester Free Trade Hall, we began re-working Greenham's song book: The intention was to present at least a part-record through song and graphics, a women's experience of Greenham, BY WOMEN, to sell before and after the performance. Unlike Tony Biggin, we had NO sponsorship then, the 100 copies soon ran-out. There were requests for more. And reminders ... weren't there still some songs missing ?! So ... here's the next edition!!
There's been lots of women involved one way, or another: women writing songs (and adapting well known 'men's songs); women inspiring songs, listening, joining in, collecting songs, singing for music- writing, writing-out words, collecting graphics from old leaflets and newsletters, pasting-up and collating ...funding other women to pay a Manchester Women's press. All round, lots and lots of us!! And none of us named: We had many discussion about this. Finally, we felt, because it would be impossible to name all women, many unknown to us, and the fact that the book is not a money-making venture, no 'credits' list should be added. All we can say is ...haven't we all done well!
We hope to create a tape of at least one verse of every song for those who are blind or don't find the music helpful. This will hopefully be created at Orange Gate on December 12th. Copies of the tape will then be available from addresses below at £1. per copy to cover tape and postage costs... the message has to be, songs are for all to sing, and we can all join in, however unpractised our voices are, if we have the words and an idea of the tune.
SONG BOOKS AVAILABLE BY POST
from Greenham Song Book,
c/o 411 Manchester Road, Leigh, Lancs.
or 42 St. Hilda's Road, Old Trafford, Manchester 16.
Please send enough to cover cost price £1.50 and postage. Donations welcome.
Because sponsorship has been received, all monies received will go to Greenham.
[No information about editors.
Picture source: The Greenham factor, December 1982.]
[Some of the songs in the songbook from Greenham Common had appeared in the Anti-nuclear songbook published by Mushroom Bookshop and Peace News in Nottingham and in the A Greenham Song Patchwork.
Others Greenham songs were published in the undated Chant down Greenham songbook produced by the Greenham Umbrella. The rare Chant down Greenham has some songs not included in the Greenham Common songbook: Stand Up, The Universal Soldier, Masters of War, Rebecca's Song, Hard Days Night, After The Bombs Have Fallen, Power To The People, Down By The Riverside and Picket For Peace.]
Greenham songs are growing and changing all the time. This collection is got together by Hackney Greenham Drummers affinity group as a contribution to 'Sound Around the Base' December 11 1983[.]
Please make copies and give them to others.
(Printed by Calverts North Star Press)
The Danish Peace Academy
INDICE DELLE CANZONI
3. The Chief Of Police
4. There's A Hole In Your Fence
5. Trident Trident
6. You Can't Kill The Spirit
7. Out Of The Darkness
8. Lilly Of The Arc Lights
9. The Vine And The Fig Tree
10. Here At Greenham On A Spree [Layabout Song]
11. A Little Help From My Friends
12. That's What Gets Us By
13. Bella Ciao
14. We Are The Daughters Of Amazon
15. We Work For The Russians
16. Building Bridges
17. Under the Full Moonlight We Dance [Full Moonlight Dance]
18. Lies
19. I Am A Witness To Your War Crimes
20. Carry Greenham Home
21. Swift As The Wind My Sisters Are
22. Da Do Ron Ron
23. With Our Lovely Feathers We Shall Fly
24. Which Side Are You On?
25. Reclaim The Night
26. The River Is Flowing
27. Four Minutes to Midnight
28. You Say Our Earth is Out of Bounds (A Song For Molesworth)
29. Our Digger's Song
30. Digger's Song (The World Turned Upside Down)
31. Chant Down Greenham
32. At the Peace Camp
33. We are Gentle Angry Women (Singing For Our Lives)
34. We Like the Flowers
35. Mothers, Daughters, Wives
36. Sarah's Song
37. Bridget Evans
38. Elsie's Song (Chat and Nuke You Talks)
39. Holloway Song
40. Lonely Holloway Prison
41. Oh Holloway
42. We are the Witches
43. Silo Song
44. Silo Action Song
45. Cosmie Green with Envy Song
46. Greenham Lullaby
47. Womanly Times
48. Smash the System
49. Stand Up
50. Peace Camp Newbury, Berkshire
51. Rainbow Ditty
52. Take the Toys away from the Boys
53. We don't torture
54. Who are the Witches?
55. Yesterday's Children
55. Linking Arms Circling Round
56. Leave us Alone
57. Muncher Song
58. Strangest Dream
59. Just a Little While to Stay Here
60. We are the Flow and we are the Ebb
61. Nightmare Song (Nagasaki Day '82)
62. Tomorrow
63. The Waters of Babylon
64. Your Children are not yours
65. Breaths
66. Bye Bye Blackbird
67. Now I'm a happy Dyke
68. Leah's Song
69. Non-Monogamy Song
70. Feet on Solid Ground
71. Don't Think Twice
72. It Ain't Me Judge
73. She Changes Everything
74. Women for Peace
75. I have dreamed
76. Silver's Dragon Song
77. On This Mountain
78. The Earth is our Mother
79. Bent Ladies
80. Revolution Talk
81. We'll Come Back
82. For the Police
83. There's A Sentry
84. Festival of Light - words but no music
85. Bailiffs Song - words but no music
86. Grenham Common (Oklahoma) - words but no music