Everything is just a little sad
There in Berlin, out here in Leningrad
Shuddering and starved; twenty-below
Burned-out, beleaguered; barefooted
in the snow
I'd give-up the fight; quit this damned war
Find me a bed, a girl, and an open door
We'd have a drink, or maybe two or three
But it could not be as it used to be
They set me to march, gave me a pair of boots
And hateful ideas, spewed-out in absolutes
I need a reason not to be gone
And I need a cause to hang
my life upon
I'd give-up the fight; quit this damned war
Find me a bed, a girl, and an open door
We'd have a drink, or maybe two or three
But it could not be as it used to be
Have I missed the day?
Have I missed the trumpet-sound
When we'll be raised
Up from the foetid ground
To sing a new song, make reverie from regret?
Water to good wine, plowshares from bayonets?
What have we done? What has become of us?
Nothing is bright; nothing's euphonious
I'd give-up the fight; quit this damned war
Find me a bed, a girl, and an open door
We'd have a drink, or maybe two or three
But it could not be as it used to be
We’d sing a new song,
make reverie from regret
Water to good wine,
plowshares from bayonets
Everything is just a little—
Everything is just a little sad
A little sad, a little sad
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