Song | War |
Artist | Dougie MacLean |
Album | Indigenous |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
Our voice made silent | |
Our hands made still | |
But deep and violent wait the ones who wait to kill | |
The desert’s burning, their reasons pale | |
For there’s no returning with some golden holy grail | |
What have they done? | |
What have they done? | |
The blood will run to everyone | |
Oh what have they done? | |
Is it for freedom? | |
Or is it for truth | |
That father’s fall and all the young men trade their youth? | |
Or are they moved by deception’s hand | |
That rank and reckless scatters death across the sand? | |
Is it for freedom? | |
Or is it for truth | |
That fathers fall and all those young men trade their youth? | |
And the deserts burning, their faces pale | |
For there’s no returning with some golden holy grail |
Our voice made silent | |
Our hands made still | |
But deep and violent wait the ones who wait to kill | |
The desert' s burning, their reasons pale | |
For there' s no returning with some golden holy grail | |
What have they done? | |
What have they done? | |
The blood will run to everyone | |
Oh what have they done? | |
Is it for freedom? | |
Or is it for truth | |
That father' s fall and all the young men trade their youth? | |
Or are they moved by deception' s hand | |
That rank and reckless scatters death across the sand? | |
Is it for freedom? | |
Or is it for truth | |
That fathers fall and all those young men trade their youth? | |
And the deserts burning, their faces pale | |
For there' s no returning with some golden holy grail |
Our voice made silent | |
Our hands made still | |
But deep and violent wait the ones who wait to kill | |
The desert' s burning, their reasons pale | |
For there' s no returning with some golden holy grail | |
What have they done? | |
What have they done? | |
The blood will run to everyone | |
Oh what have they done? | |
Is it for freedom? | |
Or is it for truth | |
That father' s fall and all the young men trade their youth? | |
Or are they moved by deception' s hand | |
That rank and reckless scatters death across the sand? | |
Is it for freedom? | |
Or is it for truth | |
That fathers fall and all those young men trade their youth? | |
And the deserts burning, their faces pale | |
For there' s no returning with some golden holy grail |