Interpret:

John Denver

Album:

One World

I am the son of a grassland farmer 
 Western Oklahoma nineteen forty three 
 I always felt grateful to live in the land of the free 
 I gave up my father to South Korea 
 The mind of my brother to Vietnam 
 Now theres a banker who says I must give up my land 
 There are four generations of blood in this topsoil 
 Four generations of love on this farm 
 Before I give up I would gladly give up my right arm 


 What are we making weapons for 
 Why keep on feeding the war machine 
 We take it right out of the mouths of our babies 
 Take it away from the hands of the poor 
 Tell me, what are we making weapons for 


 I had a son and my son was a soldier 
 He was so like my father, he was so much like me 
 To be a good comrade was the best that he dreamed he could be 
 He gave up his future to revolution 
 His life to a battle that just cant be won 
 For this is not living, to live at the point of a gun 
 I remember the nine hundred days of Leningrad 
 The sound of the dying, the cut of the cold 
 I remember the moments I prayed I would never grow old 


 What are we making weapons for 
 Why keep on feeding the war machine 
 We take it right out of the mouths of our babies 
 Take it away from the hands of the poor 
 Tell me, what are we making weapons for 


 For the first time in my life I feel like a prisoner 
 A slave to the ways of the powers that be 
 And I fear for my children, as I fear for the for the future I see 
 Tell me how can it be were still fighting each other 
 What does it take for a people to learn 
 If our song is not sung as a chorus, we surely will burn 


 What are we making weapons for 
 Why keep on feeding the war machine 
 We take it right out of the mouths of our babies 
 Take it away from the hands of the poor
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