You Say That The Battle Is Over

John DenverJohn Denver 

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John Denver

Henry John Deutschendorf, Jr. (December 31, 1943 – October 12, 1997), known professionally as John Denver, was an American singer/songwriter, activist, and humanitarian. After traveling and living in numerous locations while growing up in his military family, Denver began his music career in folk music groups in the late 1960s. His greatest commercial success was as a solo singer. Throughout his life, Denver recorded and released approximately 300 songs, about 200 of which he composed. He performed primarily with an acoustic guitar and sang about his joy in nature, his enthusiasm for music, and relationship trials. Denver's music appeared on a variety of charts, including country and western, the Billboard Hot 100, and adult contemporary, in all earning him 1… more »

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And you say that the battle is over,
And you say that the war is all done
Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
Who run from the sound of the gun,
And write it on the sides of the great whaling-ships,
Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die
And it's we who must measure the loss.

And you say that the battle is over,
And finally the world is at peace
You mean no one is dying, and mothers don't weep,
Or it's not in the papers, at least.
There are those who would deal in the darkness of life,
There are those who would tear down the sun,
And most men are ruthless, but some will still weep
When the gifts we were given are gone.

Now the blame cannot fall on the heads of a few,
It's become such a part of the race;
It's eternally tragic that that which is magic
Be killed at the end of the glorious chase.
From young seals to great whales, from waters to wood,
They will fall just like weeds in the wind;
With fur coats, and perfumes, and trophies on walls:
What a hell of a race to call men.

And you say that the battle is over,
And you say that the war is all done
Go tell it to those with the wind in their nose
Who run from the sound of the gun,
And write it on the sides of the great whaling-ships,
Or on ice floes where conscience is tossed
With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die
And it's we who must measure the loss.
With the wild in their eyes, it is they who must die,
And it's we who must measure the cost.

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