Les soleils dorés de vos pères menaient
Vers de vastes plaines vierges et claires
Savez-vous que l'Ouest est mort ?
Et la liberté disparaît de la terre
Maintenant de mornes cités se mettent à y pulluler
Et la liberté meurt entre montagne et mer
Savez-vous que l'Ouest est mort ?
Et la liberté disparaît de la terre
De loin et de près, on a dompté et clôturé
Le monde pour lequel se sont saignés vos pères
Savez-vous que l'Ouest est mort ?
Et la liberté disparaît de la terre...
What path is left for you to tread?
When hunger-wolves are slinking near --
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here
Your fathers, golden sunsets led
To virgin prairies wide and clear --
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here
Now dismal cities rise instead
And freedom is not there nor here --
What path is left for you to tread?
Along the trails of yesteryear
Your fathers' world, for which they bled,
Is fenced and settled far and near --
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here --
Your fathers gained a crust of bread,
Their bones bleach on the lost frontier;
What path is left for you to tread?
Along the trails of yesteryear
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here
Vers de vastes plaines vierges et claires
Savez-vous que l'Ouest est mort ?
Et la liberté disparaît de la terre
Maintenant de mornes cités se mettent à y pulluler
Et la liberté meurt entre montagne et mer
Savez-vous que l'Ouest est mort ?
Et la liberté disparaît de la terre
De loin et de près, on a dompté et clôturé
Le monde pour lequel se sont saignés vos pères
Savez-vous que l'Ouest est mort ?
Et la liberté disparaît de la terre...
What path is left for you to tread?
When hunger-wolves are slinking near --
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here
Your fathers, golden sunsets led
To virgin prairies wide and clear --
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here
Now dismal cities rise instead
And freedom is not there nor here --
What path is left for you to tread?
Along the trails of yesteryear
Your fathers' world, for which they bled,
Is fenced and settled far and near --
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here --
Your fathers gained a crust of bread,
Their bones bleach on the lost frontier;
What path is left for you to tread?
Along the trails of yesteryear
Do you not know the West is dead?
And freedom is not there nor here
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