lyrics
From far away places, lands of distant drums
through portals of time, the voices come
As in the days of the bards, the chosen ones
sing the songs of the lark
His words tumble down from his pen unto the page. He’s a story teller, a poet, a sage
But his words can be angry, don’t always rhyme. He feels the pulse of the people, in his restless heart.
The song of the lark. The song of the lark.
She awakens from a visionary dream. The picture that is painted, isn’t all that it seems.
She’s a soothsayer, the truth she won’t hide. For the will of the people, she knows in her heart.
The song of the lark. The song of the lark.
Songs of the people, who we are
He plays his guitar, at the old café. Many years he’s traveled, making music this way.
He’s a song writer, a social fighter, change on his mind. And the fate of the people lies heavy on his heart.
The song of the lark. The song of the lark.
The song of the lark.
Lightly touching down to Earth, a road well a road well traveled, yet so new.
Feeling density in air, strong sensations coming through.
Misty-eyed from the long journey, seeking faces once familiar.
A chance to love, a tiny body. Knowing arms uplifting you.
Lightly touching down to earth, a road well traveled, yet so new.
Lightly touching down to Earth, on a road to adventure.
Spirit caught up in a mystery, laughing, weeping, paying dues.
Always trying to remember, is this real or an illusion.
Winding slowly round the spiral, in a search to find the truth.
Lightly touching down to Earth, a road well traveled, yet so new.
Walking in the woods, clouds overhead. The wind blows, my hair in disarray, like my thoughts today, in the woods. .
Feeling lost and insecure, I’ve walked this path so many times before. Wishing for a sign, to help me make my way from these woods.
Finding solace in the trees, the birds in the branches, sing so sweetly.
Is there a message in the breeze, that makes the flowers dance, in the woods?
Walking in the woods, my usual hiding place. Haunted by my thoughts, knowing I must face
who I am in these woods. In the woods.
Chorus
Looking upward to the sun, it’s warm and comforting. Then I see it there, fluttering, a feather in the light,
Circling round, floating down, to me, in the woods.
Holding it gently to my heart, the words come softly, I hear them inside,
saying you may always leave the woods, if you believe. Try out your wings and fly!
The child within, cries out from the many blankets, years of stifling blankets, holding her down.
Anxiously, she struggles to be free of them, knowing that to stay there any longer, they’ll become her shroud.
The child within, cries out, from the many blankets.
Searching for new garments to express her, reaching out for all the vibrant colors, sacred to her soul.
Weeping, over all the blues and the grays, while trying to be the expectations, her life was not her own.
The child within, slips out, from the many blankets.
Peering into the looking glass, full of hope for now
she sees. She can be free at last, if she’ll live her
fantasies! The child within.
Stumbling, in her eagerness to be on her way, pushing back the thorns and the briars, that would bring her pain and pull her down. Knowing, there could be no greater wounding, then the many years of doubting,
she moves along. She moves along.
Passing moments in a day, all so often go un-noticed.
they’re the essence of a good life, passing by us. Passing moments.
A little bird outside the window, sings a greeting to the day.
Foggy hills, overhead, look mysterious. Passing Moments
Children chase the butterflies, laughing as they play
and a grandpa, watches on, with a smile. Passing Moments
On a stormy afternoon, when the sky is gray and gloomy, a rainbow appears.
Young lovers, embrace, they will never let go. Older folks look on, nodding, love
love is different now.
A mother sings a lullaby to her baby
and in a at candlelight, someone prays,
wishing for for moments, wanting all the moments,
before fhey fade away. Before they fade away.
You leave me sighing with your words, they’re poetry. You seem to understand the very depths of me.
And if I doubt myself, you tell me that I’m strong, then offer up your arm to lean upon.
You are my gentleman.
When life is trying and I wonder what to do. How gallantly you come to my rescue
And if I tell you I’m alright. I can make it through. Your eyes say there’s nothing I must prove. You are my gentleman.
Like a man from the past, a man of today, so many
reasons to love you, make me want to stay. You are
my gentleman. My gentleman.
There’s no denying that I find you enchanting. You have such eloquence when I need romancing.
You whisper softly to me, hold me till the dawn. I want to be your lady from now on.
You are my gentleman. My gentleman.
If I should dance upon a stage, in a flowing dress, enchant them with my graceful movements,
I would look by best. When the lights came down, on the scenery, would you still notice, the ordinary me?
The ordinary me, the ordinary me. Cause if I lost my dancin shoes, would you still like me?
If I sang to the rafters, gave it all I’ve got, crooned them with my lilting melodies.
When the lights came down and the music stopped, would you still listen to the ordinary me?
The ordinary me, the ordinary me, cause if I couldn’t sing the high notes, would you still like me?
Do you know the things I ponder on, my views, my poetry?
Do you know the things that touch my heart, what matters most to me?
If I said all my lines, with perfect timing and finesse, left them wanting more, I’d give my very best.
When the lights came down on the character, would you still like her, this other side of me?
The ordinary me, the ordinary me, cause if I had no roles to play, would you love me anyway,
the ordinary me?
His name was Yoyo, he came from Togo, strange sounding words, unfamiliar to me.
He was an African, a black man, and his eyes were gentle when he smiled.
I felt a little awkward, how different he seemed, the foreign flow of his expression, so polite, so precise.
There was something in his manner, a warmth, a wisdom, that stirred up an emotion I couldn’t place, like a fading dream.
Chorus
He was here to study in this country, had observed many things, had stories to tell.
There was sadness in the faces of the people he’d meet, pain behind the mask of prosperity.
They were searching for true wealth.
Chorus
He was yearning to return to his own country, for his was the land of the plenty
Life was simple there, with a wealth untold, and they shared food together round a single bowl
and loved as family.
Now I awakened to the wound in my neglected soul. It wanted out of the box, out of the box, of the black and white.
Touched by the presence of this kindly man, I began to think in colors and see the shades of beauty in between.
Chorus
It was time for him to leave. I didn’t want him to go. He took my tiny, light fingers in his strong, dark hand.
In a moment he was gone, yet I’d traveled many miles with my friend Yoyo, Yoyo, Yoyo.
A chilling wind blows over my pillow, awakening me from a troubled sleep.
Shutters bang outside the open window, bringing me back to reality.
I look through the shadows, of this lonely room and the pictures that are hanging there are all about me.
And I hear through the wind, the whisper of a voice,
saying look into your heart, the answer’s within.
The world is so needy, it’s crying for out for you.
Look into your heart and begin.
No purse strings and prosperity. It’s time I though of charity. I hear a voice calling me,
saying where are you? Where are you?
How long I have waited with my back to this wind, wanting to move forward, but afraid to begin.
But the image in the mirror, in the early morning light, is really a woman not so young anymore.
Chorus
Look into your heart, if you look into your heart, look into your heart, you’ll begin.
A tribute to Carson McCann
You were a kind, a gentle man, a man of nature.
You held reverence for the Earth. You sought to save her.
A defender of the forest land, a voice for the trees. They called you Sparrow.
Through ancient Hemlocks, the Douglas Firs, Red Cedars too, the weeping wind sings this song to you.
Sparrow, fly to the angels, tell them to be the guardians of the ancient trees.
They’ve stood tall and proud. They’re tearing them all down now.
What a price we’re paying for apathy and greed. Sparrow fly. Sparrow fly.
You gave your all to save the animals, the creatures of the trees.
Your voice was strong, you made a stand, but you were just a man.
Did you fear we’d never see? We’re losing our forest land. Oh, Sparrow
Through barren lands, deserted lands, a lonely wind howls, cause here once roamed the mountain lions and flew the owls.
Chorus
Don’t know why you had to leave us, on that sad day, guess we’ll never know.
But you taught the ropes to others to and they follow you.
They’re defenders of the forest land, a voice for the trees. Thank you, Sparrow.
They scattered your ashes to a mournful wind, near the trees you loved, on this sacred ground,
but the loggers tore them down. They came tumbling down. Sparrow fly!
Who are the keepers of the children? Whose watching over the little ones?
The keepers of the children.
We read them fairy tales and send them out to play. They go in search of castles.
And they’ll live happily ever after, cause things turn out that way. Don’t they?
But do we stand up, do we have a say? Do we try to make a difference,
for their future days? Or do we leave it up to a few?
Shouldn’t we be minding their world too? Who are the keepers of the children?
They paint us pretty pictures, with colors all so bright, tiny fingers making rainbows.
How very blue their sky, how green their trees, this world they see.
But do we stand up, do we have a say, do we try to save the Earth
for fheir future days? Or do we leave it up to a few?
Shouldn’t we be minding their world to? Who are the keepers of the children?
When the day is ending, we tuck them into bed. With love we give them kisses.
And if they’re frightened of the shadows as we turn out the light,
we tell them, everything’s alright..
But do we stand up, do we have a say, do we try to keep the peace
for their future days? Or do we leave it up to a few?
Shouldn’t it we be minding their world too?
Who keepers of the children? Whose watching over the little ones?
The keepers of the children.
12. Travelin Back
Travelin back to my ancestral land, seeking to know what I don’t understand.
My past intertwines with the future of me. I won’t know where I’m going, till I know who I am.
I wear a Celtic cross next to my heart. I sing the old songs, strumming on my harp.
I remember the stories, as told to me. They are whispers from long ago,
weaving through my dreams, weaving through my dreams.
Driving the roads of Dunbartonshire. The ancients were keepers of a castle there.
The old fortress ruins still stand so high, on the banks overlooking the river Clyde.
I know their spirits still haunt these parts, from the misty waters to the rolling hills,
between rocky knolls and the willow trees, for I’ve heard their whispers weaving through my dreams.
I wear a Celtic cross next to my heart. I sing the old songs, strumming on my harp.
As the stories unravel, I feel them inside, pages of history
coming alive, coming alive.
The wind through the branches seems to whisper my name, as I pass an old abbey in the setting sun,
with skeletal walls laid bare to the sky, like a man gone to dust on the day that he dies.
Amidst the shadows of fading light, stand old grave markers from centuries past,
and there a cross and carved in stone, the family name I call my own.
Travelin back from my ancestral land, gathering the memories of where I have been.
Some things I’ll never know, this I understand.
But I wear a Celtic cross, next to my heart. I sing the old songs, strumming on my harp.
I’ll pass on the stories as told to me. They are whispers from long ago,
Weaving through my dreams, weaving through my dreams,
Weaving through my dreams.
Take up a wand and spin me around. I’d be a child again. Spin me around.
Dancing about in fields of flowers, flying through the wind, like a bird I’d be free.
Spin me around.
Throwing off my clothes, running down to the water’s edge.
Playing and splashing, yet the current swallows me.
Then I’d be a ripple or I’d be a wave, carried away by the pull of the moon.
Spin me around.
Having no worries about social graces, taking facades from lonely faces.
Eyes looking back are wistful too.
Climbing up a hill trying to reach the sky.
Yearning and&nb
Seeking the light coming down through the trees, embracing it’s warmth with my soul.
Spin me around. I’m a child again. I’d be a child again. Spin me around.