They fell that year they vanished Or what laws the offended, And the babies they tendered. All condemned by their birth.
In their heart they were slain, In their god still believing In that season of grieving Just for one helping hand. For no one heard their prayers, In a world bent on pleasure They simply closed their eyes They create allot of sound In jazz and right time measure The trumpets screamed till dawn To drown the children's cries.
Like the small desert flower Simply covered by the silent wind
But their lives and their passion, And their longing to live Thrive their children can grow. Their eyes still full of sound That fall down were it might, That holds on with its might As if death were a trifle
Who die in unknown places Who perished in their pride, Whose blood in rivers ran, With courage on their faces They went in to the night, That waits for every man. Their only crime was life There only guilt was fear Nothing less nothing more More from Charles Aznavour