Gordon Lightfoot, 'Lost Children'
Lost Children
Down the halls their voices ring, their feet are on the run
Phantoms on the winter sky, together they do come.
Faded lips and eyes of blue, they're carried in the wind.
Their laughter fills the countryside, but they'll not laugh again
All the games have ended now, the voices have been stilled
Their fathers built the tools of war by which they all were killed
Their mothers made the uniforms showing which side they were on
and the young boys were the middle men for the guns to play upon.
You've seen the fires in the night, watched the Devil as he smiles
You've heard a mothers mournful cry as she searches for her child.
You've seen the lines of refugees, the faces of despair,
And wondered at the wise men who never seemed to care.
Goodbye you lost children, God speed you on your way.
Your little beds are empty now, your toys are put away.
Your mother sings a lullaby as she gazes at the floor.
Your father builds more weapons and marches out once more.
Down the halls their voices ring, their feet are on the run
Phantoms on the winter sky, together they do come.
Faded lips and eyes of blue, they're carried in the wind.
Their laughter fills the countryside, but they'll not laugh again.
by Gordon Lightfoot
Down the halls their voices ring, their feet are on the run
Phantoms on the winter sky, together they do come.
Faded lips and eyes of blue, they're carried in the wind.
Their laughter fills the countryside, but they'll not laugh again
All the games have ended now, the voices have been stilled
Their fathers built the tools of war by which they all were killed
Their mothers made the uniforms showing which side they were on
and the young boys were the middle men for the guns to play upon.
You've seen the fires in the night, watched the Devil as he smiles
You've heard a mothers mournful cry as she searches for her child.
You've seen the lines of refugees, the faces of despair,
And wondered at the wise men who never seemed to care.
Goodbye you lost children, God speed you on your way.
Your little beds are empty now, your toys are put away.
Your mother sings a lullaby as she gazes at the floor.
Your father builds more weapons and marches out once more.
Down the halls their voices ring, their feet are on the run
Phantoms on the winter sky, together they do come.
Faded lips and eyes of blue, they're carried in the wind.
Their laughter fills the countryside, but they'll not laugh again.
by Gordon Lightfoot
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