Christmas In The Trenches

[Refrão]
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​'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
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[Próxima Parte]
​The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung
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​Our families back in England were toasting us that day
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​Their brave and glorious lads so far a-way
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​I was lying with my messmate, on the cold and rocky ground
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​When a-cross the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
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​Says I, now listen up me boys, each soldier strained to hear
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​As one young German voice sang out so clear
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​He's singing bloody well you know, my partner says to me
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​Soon one by one each German voice, joined in in har-mo-ny
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​The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
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​As Christmas brought us respite from the war
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​As soon as they were finished, and a reverent pause was spent
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​God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen, struck up some lads from Kent
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​The next they sang was "Stille Nacht", 'tis "Silent Night" says I
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​And in two tongues, one song filled up that sky
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​There's someone comin' t'wards us, the frontline sentry cried
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​All sights were fixed on one lone figure trudging from their side
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​His truce flag like a Christmas star shone on that plain so bright
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​As he bravely strode un-armed into the night
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​Then one by one, on either side, walked into No Man's Land
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​With neither gun or bayonet, we met there hand to hand
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​We shared some secret brandy and wished each other well
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​And in a flare-lit soccer game, we gave 'em hell
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​We traded chocolates, cigarettes and photographs from home
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​These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
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​Young Sanders played his squeezebox and they had a vi-o-lin
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​This curious and un-likely band of men
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​Soon daylight stole u-pon us, and France was France once more
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​With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
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​But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
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​Whose family have I fixed within my sights

[Refrão] (repetir)
[Próxima Parte]
​The frozen fields of France were warmed as Christmas songs were sung
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​For the walls they kept be-tween us to ex-act the work of war
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​Had been crumbled and are gone for ever-more
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​Oh my name is Frances Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
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​Each Christmas come since World War One, I've learned it's lessons well
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​That the ones who call the shots, won't be a-mong the dead and lame
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​And on each end of the rifle, we're the same