Joan Brau

Joan Brau anà a la guerra,
a lluitar a una âtra terra;
sa mare estava poc pagâ!
Allà estava plantat,
d'uniforme, ben mudat;
sa mare no cabia en si del goig:

«Fill meu, ja t'has fet gran,
jo estic orgullosa i tan
pagâ de que el meu fill siga soldat.
Fes-li cas al capità;
medalles et donarà,
que les penjarem a casa en tu tornar.»

Quan el tren es va allunyar
la dona es posà a cridar,
unflant-li el cap a tots els del costat:
«És el meu fill qui se'n va;
és major, s'ha fet soldat»

No cal dir que ho va fer tot ben apanyat...

Rebia cartes prou sovint
i les anava exhibint,
mostrant-li-les a tot el veïnat;
fins i tot davant l'espill
ella es parlava del seu fill
i de tot això que li diuen combat.

Oh! Li diuen combat!

Li deixaren d'arribar
cartes a la seua llar
durant deu o dotze mesos i, llavors,
va rebre una citació:
«Vaja cap a l'estació,
que el seu fill arribarà amb el pròxim tren.»

Xino-xano se'n va anar,
però només arribar
no aconseguia vôre el fill enlloc.
Quan la gent s'anà apartant,
el va vôre allà davant
i de poc no es queda en estat de xoc.

Amb el rostre tot cremat,
amb un membre mutilat
i una faixa, a la cintura, de metall.
Quasi no podia parlar
i, amb prou faena, caminar;
el soldat més desgraciat que vôreu mai!

Senyor! Que vôreu mai!

«Digues, estimat fill meu,
què t'han fet, ai, Mãedéu,
pareixes un eccehomo, què ha passat?»

Ell parlà com va poder,
amb la veu d'un estranger,
sa mare mirant cap a un âtre costat:

«No te'n recordes que,
quan aní a la guerra amb tren,
em vas dir que era la meua obligació?
Jo estava on tot el cacau,
tu a la casa, tot en pau;
no et pots ni imaginar la situació!

«Jo pensava, estant allí,
Mãedéu, què faig ací?
Si no els mate, ells me mataran a mi!
L'enemic s'anà arrimant
i quan el vaig tindre davant,
li vaig vôre el rostre i era com el meu!

«Senyor! Just com el meu!

«Mentre creuava el fangar
no deixava de pensar
que jo no era més que un número en uns fulls,
i a través del fum i el foc
vaig sentir un últim toc
quan la bala de canó em va traure els ulls.»

I en anar-se'n d'aquell lloc,
amb sa mare encara en xoc
per la faixa de metall que duia allà,
el seu fill la va abraçar
i llavors li va deixar
totes les seues medalles en la mà...

© 2002 de la lletra: Toni de l'Hostal (nét).

John Brown

John Brown went off to war
to fight on a foreign shore.
His mama sure was proud of him!
He stood straight and tall
in his uniform and all.
His mama's face broke out all in a grin.

«Oh son, you look so fine,
I'm glad you're a son of mine,
you make me proud to know you hold a gun.
Do what the captain says,
lots of medals you will get,
and we'll put them on the wall when you come home.»

As that old train pulled out,
John's ma began to shout,
tellin' ev'ryone in the neighborhood:
«That's my son that's about to go,
he's a soldier now, you know.»
She made well sure her neighbors understood.

She got a letter once in a while
and her face broke into a smile
as she showed them to the people from next door.
And she bragged about her son
with his uniform and gun,
and these things you called a good old-fashioned war.

Oh! Good old-fashioned war!

Then the letters ceased to come,
for a long time they did not come.
They ceased to come for about ten months or more.
Then a letter finally came saying:
«Go down and meet the train.
Your son's a-coming home from the war.»

She smiled and went right down,
she looked everywhere around
but she could not see her soldier son in sight.
But as all the people passed,
she saw her son at last,
when she did she could hardly believe her eyes.

Oh his face was all shot up
and his hand was all blown off,
and he wore a metal brace around his waist.
He whispered kind of slow,
in a voice she did not know,
while she couldn't even recognize his face!

Oh! Lord! Not even recognize his face.

«Oh tell me, my darling son,
pray tell me what they done.
How is it you come to be this way?»
He tried his best to talk
but his mouth could hardly move
and the mother had to turn her face away.

«Don't you remember, ma,
when I went off to war,
you thought it was the best thing I could do?
I was on the battleground,
you were home... acting proud.
You wasn't there standing in my shoes.

«Oh, and I thought when I was there,
God, what am I doing here?
I'm a-tryin' to kill somebody or die tryin'?
But the thing that scared me most
was when my enemy came close,
and I saw that his face looked just like mine.

«Oh! Lord! Just like mine!

«And I couldn't help but think,
through the thunder rolling and stink,
that I was just a puppet in a play.
And through the roar and smoke,
this string is finally broke,
and a cannon ball blew my eyes away.»

As he turned away to walk,
his ma was still in shock
at seein' the metal brace that helped him stand.
But as he turned to go,
he called his mother close
and he dropped his medals down into her hand...

Lyrics © 1963 by Bob Dylan; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music.