engelsk tekst. forstår du det??
Hej. jeg har meget svært ved at forstå den her tekst, det er en søster der fortæller om sin holdning til en krig ??
Er der en der vil forklare mig hvad hun siger??? TAAK :)))
When we fought campaighs (in the long Christmas rains). With soldiers spread in troops on the floor, I shot as straight as you, my losses were as few, My victories as many, or more. And when in naval battle, amid cannon’s rattle, Fleet met fleet in the bath, My cruisers were as trim, my battleship as grim, My subrnarines cut as swift a path. Or, when it rained too long, and the strenght of the strong Surged up and broke a way with blows, I was as fit and keen, my fists hit as clean, Your blac eye matched my bleeding nose. Was there a scrap or ploy in which you, the boy, Could better me? You could not cimp higher, Ride straighter, run as quick (and to smoke made you sick)……. But I sit here and you’re under fire. Oh, it’s you that have the luck, out there in blood and muck: You were born beneath a kindly star; All we dreamt, I and you, you can really go and do, And I can’t, the way things are. In a trench you are sitting, while I arn knitting A hopeless sock that never gets done. Well, here’s luck, my dear; - and you’ve got it, no fear; But for me… a war is poor fun.
Er der en der vil forklare mig hvad hun siger??? TAAK :)))
When we fought campaighs (in the long Christmas rains). With soldiers spread in troops on the floor, I shot as straight as you, my losses were as few, My victories as many, or more. And when in naval battle, amid cannon’s rattle, Fleet met fleet in the bath, My cruisers were as trim, my battleship as grim, My subrnarines cut as swift a path. Or, when it rained too long, and the strenght of the strong Surged up and broke a way with blows, I was as fit and keen, my fists hit as clean, Your blac eye matched my bleeding nose. Was there a scrap or ploy in which you, the boy, Could better me? You could not cimp higher, Ride straighter, run as quick (and to smoke made you sick)……. But I sit here and you’re under fire. Oh, it’s you that have the luck, out there in blood and muck: You were born beneath a kindly star; All we dreamt, I and you, you can really go and do, And I can’t, the way things are. In a trench you are sitting, while I arn knitting A hopeless sock that never gets done. Well, here’s luck, my dear; - and you’ve got it, no fear; But for me… a war is poor fun.