Truce, call a truce
Stop all the firing and the fighting
Christmas morning, 1914
What would the good Lord say?
Truce, call a truce
Stop all the shelling and the shooting
Froehliche Weinacht
Kamerad, Freundschaft
Let's all be friends for a days
In the man made hell
In the putrescent smell
In the mines and mud and trenches
The men from therhine crossed over the line
For a truce...
With the Tommies and the Frenchies
But the very next day
There were hand grenades
There was gunfire, gassing and slaughter
As we blasted the Hun
To Kingdome Come
With machine guns, shelling and mortars
It was nice to pretend
We could all live as friends
With the Christmas angels calling
But the dream turned sour
In a matter of hours
And we made it all up in the morning
Truce, call a truce
Stop all the bitching and backbiting
Who'd leave their lover
Or send in the bailiffs
This one day of the year?
Truce, call a truce
Stop all the sackings and the stealing
Who'd rape a schoolgirl
Or cut off someone's pension
And spoil all this Christmas cheer
There's a couple of days when the bashers of gays
Who oppress, arrest and charge us
All leave us alone to return back home
For a truce...
With our mothers and our fathers
But the very next day it's back to the fray
And setting our homes in order
Bashing Lesbian mothers
And underage lovers
Disowning gay sons and daughters
Well it's quaint to pretend
We can love our fellow men
With the Christmas angels calling
But the dream turns sour
In a matter of hours
And they make it all up in the morning
Stop all the firing and the fighting
Christmas morning, 1914
What would the good Lord say?
Truce, call a truce
Stop all the shelling and the shooting
Froehliche Weinacht
Kamerad, Freundschaft
Let's all be friends for a days
In the man made hell
In the putrescent smell
In the mines and mud and trenches
The men from therhine crossed over the line
For a truce...
With the Tommies and the Frenchies
But the very next day
There were hand grenades
There was gunfire, gassing and slaughter
As we blasted the Hun
To Kingdome Come
With machine guns, shelling and mortars
It was nice to pretend
We could all live as friends
With the Christmas angels calling
But the dream turned sour
In a matter of hours
And we made it all up in the morning
Truce, call a truce
Stop all the bitching and backbiting
Who'd leave their lover
Or send in the bailiffs
This one day of the year?
Truce, call a truce
Stop all the sackings and the stealing
Who'd rape a schoolgirl
Or cut off someone's pension
And spoil all this Christmas cheer
There's a couple of days when the bashers of gays
Who oppress, arrest and charge us
All leave us alone to return back home
For a truce...
With our mothers and our fathers
But the very next day it's back to the fray
And setting our homes in order
Bashing Lesbian mothers
And underage lovers
Disowning gay sons and daughters
Well it's quaint to pretend
We can love our fellow men
With the Christmas angels calling
But the dream turns sour
In a matter of hours
And they make it all up in the morning
envoyé par Bartleby - 30/9/2010 - 12:57
×
![]()
Album “Cabaret ‘79”
Un’altra canzone sulla “tregua del Natale 1914”.
Si veda Christmas In The Trenches e soprattutto Christmas 1914 di Mike Harding.