| Sons | Daughters |
| Sons of your sons or sons passing by, Children we lost in lullabies. Sons of true love or sons of regret, All of the sons you cannot forget. Some built the roads, some wrote the poems. Some went to war, some never came home. Sons of your sons or sons passing by, Children we lost in lullabies. So long ago: long, long, ago. But sons of the thief, sons of the saint, Who is the child with no complaint? Sons of the great or sons unknown, All were children like your own, The same sweet smiles, the same sad tears, The cries at night, the nightmare fears. Sons of the great or sons unknown, All were children like your own. - Jacques Brel | Thank heaven for little girls, For little girls get bigger every day! Thank heaven for little girls, They grow up in the most delightful way! Those little eyes so helpless and appealing – One day will flash and send you crashing through the ceiling. Thank heaven for little girls, Thank heaven for them all, No matter where, No matter who! Without them, what would little boys do? - Maurice Chevalier |
