| G | C | G | |
| And you s | ay that the battle is | ov | er |
| D | |
| And finally the war is all do | ne |
| Go tell it to those With the wind in their nose |
| G | C | |
| Who run from the sound of the g | un |
| G | C | G | |
| And wr | ite it on the sides Of the gr | eat whaling sh | ips |
| C | |
| Or on ice floes where conscience is to | ssed with the wild in their eyes |
| G | D | G | C | Em | D | |
| It is t | hey who must die and it's w | e who must measure the lo | ss |
| And you say that the battle is over |
| And finally the world is at peace |
| You mean no one is dying and mothers don't weep |
| or it's not in the papers at least. |
| There are those who would deal in the darkness of life |
| There are those who would tear down the sun. And most men are ruthless |
| but some will still weep, When the gifts we were given are gone. |
| Now the blame cannot fall on the heads of a few. |
| It's become such a part of the race |
| It's eternally tragic, that which is magic, |
| be killed at the end of the glorious chase. |
| From young seals to great whales, from waters to wood |
| They will fall just like weeds in the wind. With fur coats and perfumes |
| and trophies on walls, what a hell of a race to call men. |
| repeat verse 1 |
| With the wild in their eyes |
| It is they who must die |
| And it's we who must measure the loss |
| C | G |