The Holy Ground - Trad

I was born on the holy ground
a running child in fields of clover
i was living in the grandeur
of my father's land
By the side of the swirling sea
i spent the days of childish wonder
and the rocks i held in my young hands
i never felt them slip away
Well, the sun shone bright upon the waves
and the wind blew high as i was leaving
and i sailed so far away
looking for adventure
But i would not stay where the city streets
proclaimed so loudly man's endeavors
though music is a pretty thing
in fine company
And the wilderness took my breath away
under a sun that never falters
i felt i had to find my way
where no one ever goes
It was in the south that my new home lay
with a dark-eyed boy and wild horses
with humming birds and roses there
in old mexico
There the winds of change, they blew so far
of liberty and revolution
and it seemed that each man heard in his breast
the drumming of a nation
I was born on the holy ground
a running child in fields of clover
i was living in the grandeur
of my father's land