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An Old Song

Dawn and Dave
Eric Bogle


Martin, don't go out tonight. Martin, stay at home. You know I die a thousand times every hour you're gone. One more night of waiting for the knocking at the door that will make another widow. Curse this endless bloody war. And for all your talk of freedom, we're all prisoners of a cause that's stolen pity from the heart, crushed reason in its jaws. It's put the nightmare in your eyes and the blood upon your hands, and made a senseless graveyard of our green beloved land. Sing of martyrs, sing of heroes, make your song sounds like a prayer. But who pays the price? Who must sacrifice, the children that we bear. Do you wonder, we despair. Martin, when I look at you, shall I tell you what I see? And endless, timeless, silent line of women just like me through the anguished ages (I sang the wrong word. Ancient instead of anguished) waiting for the knocking at the door. Well, we won't wait any longer and we won't be silent anymore. And you sing your song of liberty as if I can't understand. Does the wild, free spark in a woman's heart burn less than in a man's? Do you think I don't love this land?
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