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Sometimes when you journey. Through the pages of a book. You're taken places beyond words. You let them speak the truth. Today I've opened treasures. That my eyes could scarce believe.
Day was young and desire was. stirred. Summer was all but. gone. Light was fading from the. side of your face. Sinking low. in the corn. All that's constant.
Like shadows on the wall. You come and you go. Through the streets. And the rain that falls down. On our sin. No more good-byes. Forever this way. Whenever the greatest flame in the world.
Between the shifting shadows. In the no-man's zone. There's a bar at the end of the street. Some poor country music. One or two sixty's songs. This is the place where the night owls sleep.
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We grew up in the spaces. Where the four winds blow. We left these glens and valleys. Traitors to the plough. . We thought we knew the answers. thought we had it made.
When you arrived in Canada you walked the streets. Out of work out of money, prospects bleak. Now the plane comes down from the morning sky. And you touch the land where the fire won't die.
Choimhead mi ri mo chùl. . Gun neimh gun truas. . Làrach mo chasan mu sgaoil. . 'S iad a' triall tron an ùir. . Gu toiseach 's gu deireadh uair. . 'S gu na làitehan soilleir buan.
Tell me where oh where has summer gone. It hasn't come this year. You always cry when swallows fly. With doubts in search of dreams. He's a working man.
In the slipstream of luck and democracy. A victim of chance and geography. I reap and I sow the face of the earth. While big guns play games with the land of my birth.
Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich fhein. Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich fhein. . Ochd deug seisreach.
How can't you see. The wilderness growing free. Time wounded and scarred. Stroking away the years. It's hard to believe. But memories are old ghosts. Mountains of black and gold.
Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich fhein. Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich. Clann mo theaghlaich fhein. . Ochd deug seisreach.
Take heart: cheat the dark. Get driving with the lark. As cities sleep. Steal a march before the sun. It's all philosophy. On an open motorway. Chasing break of day.
Here hangs an open landscape. A wild and huge frontier. From a harsh and a barren wasteland. Through the grave to the promised field. . You came, you trapped, you charted.
The red hot sun burns up the hill. The winter's bride, the summer's king. I tramp these acres and I feel. Once upon a time. Then it seemed that everything.
It's all over now, no more summers in heaven. After World War Two wed and a life of ups and downs. I see it now, precious even on paper. A young man and his bride and someone to make time stand still.
I still hear the snares in the square. Colours ablaze in the evening. The air was still. Down the stormy hill. It's good to be young and daring. . I still see the blood on the knees.