Lingua   

The Lost Bastard Son of War

Mick Harvey & Christopher Richard Barker
Lingua: Inglese



I am the lost bastard son of war and I bring you death and destruction!
Death & destruction, death & destruction!
 
The tiresome wag bought a round, then bought us each a smoke
But as he flashed his shallow cash I thought him just a joke
He'd cluffed the scuffed Victoria Cross peeking from my coat
When I'd quaffed the golden dew that warmly gilds one's throat
 
He tapped me rudely on the arm and gave a friendly wink
Nudging forward a fresh new glass brimming to the brink
"Tell us, chum, your tales of war - pray tell us if you can!"
I sighed and frowned then downed the bribe; my cold heart briefly span.

I am the lost bastard son of war and I bring you death and destruction!
Death & destruction, death & destruction!
 
I stared bleakly into the fire, I sighed most torrid deep
I sighed like an earthbound corpse, cursed by lack of sleep
I raised my grey, empty eyes and stared straight through the crowd
Gathering fast about us like a hungry nebulous shroud
 
"So," I said, feeling glum, "you want to hear of battles won?
Of bowmen, tanks, of hero ranks; of glorious setting suns?
Of glittering deeds by Allied seeds, oh so nobly done?
Well, you've picked very poor, for I am War's lost bastard son.
 
I am the lost bastard son of war and I bring you death and destruction!
Death & destruction, death & destruction!
 
I'll tell you of the badly-fed spilling out their empty guts
Of those who lost their minds staggering numbly through the ruts
Of boys mown down like fresh spring grass in the cold twilight mist
Torn apart, from head to heart, by a cruel machine gun kiss
 
You want to hear epic tales of hunting down the Hun?
Led by pompous hypocrites, "Tally-ho lads, good job done!"
You want perhaps to hear me say that killing people's fun?
Well, thanks for the drink, I'm much obliged, but it ain’t like that, chum.
 
I am the lost bastard son of war and I bring you death and destruction!
Death & destruction, death & destruction!
 
War is stumbling blindly through the foulest, vilest smog
Through clouds of seething mustard gas, poison death-drenched fog
It's hateful whispers weaving through the ghoulish yellow smoke
Whispers from the old dark gods about their murderous joke
 
I'll tell of those who behind the lines courageously herd you on
Shepherds to the slaughter, "Your country's so proud, son!"
I'll tell you too of other bastards who never made it home
Felled and buried in the mud, their dead names haunting stone
 
Yes, I am War's lost bastard son - ungrateful for all time!
Ungrateful for my bronze trinket that merely rewards crime!
Ungrateful for the wounds they stitched, stitched up less than neat
Ungrateful for the pension that sees me sleeping in the street
 
I am War's lost bastard son - I am angry for all time!
I am angry for the pointless loss, angry while I rhyme!
Angry at the shabby way politicians treat those they prod
Angry that they make us kill to prove our love for God
 
'Tell us tales of war!' you ask with sycophantic guile
Hoping to have your way, no doubt, for a cheaply plastered smile
Well, lend me your gun, my noble friend, and I promise that you'll see
My keenest insights, freshly splattered, across your bended knee!
 
I AM THE LOST BASTARD SON OF WAR
I AM THE LOST BASTARD SON
BUT I AIN'T THE ONLY ONE
NO, I AIN'T THE ONLY ONE
 
I AM THE LOST BASTARD SON OF WAR
I AM THE LOST BASTARD SON
BUT I AIN'T THE ONLY ONE
NO, I AIN'T THE ONLY ONE


Pagina principale CCG

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