Migration

We are rising as the sun retreats into the trees
We’re thinking of our destination as we start to leave
We’re marching to the sea, marching to the sea
Marching to the sea, we’re marching to the sea
We’re marching to the sea, we’re marching to the sea
We’re marching to the sea, we’re marching to the sea
We’re marching to the sea, we’re marching to the sea
Smiling from the gentle touches of the evening breeze
No one is unhappy now and no one is fatigued
We’re marching to the sea, marching to the sea
I’m a tired old man in a tired old land
Watching shadows moving across the sand
Now they move at night and I understand
That they cannot see more than they can stand
I have been decieved, I have murdered and
I have seen the soul of an unborn lamb;
It can burn a hole in a guilty man
But it cannot stand in a distant land
Let my children live in a holy land
Let my children live in a holy land
Let my children live in a holy land
Let my children live in a holy land
We have left our lives, we have left our land
We have left behind all we understand
Now we must cry out, yes we must demand
Let my children live in a land that’s low
Where the holes are deeper than light can go
Let them have not pride but instead a soul
That can see the shame of the hands that glow