Old Songs

We were born of the ocean
Though our blood has hardened since
From the carbon and the quartz we crossed
As we moved to the east
As we hit upon the mountains
We planted in this town
The abundance of the earth was all we'd need
All our old songs seemed so foreign
As we sang them in the square
But in time more far-flung families joined our own
Tales of Natives and the Northmen
And the Kansans whence they came
Sang our quiet little town into a home

Singing
Tie a ribbon round the old oak tree
Make me down a pallet somewhere in a field
Drop a line into the creek in moonlit darkness, I believe
We could be cowboys if our mothers would yield
That country road'll take us where we'd like to go
But this land was made to be our home

Now the snowfall can get heavy
And the summers hot and dry
But we celebrate the hearty earth in hand
Through the cattle and the vineyards
Where the hilltops meet the sky
You can hear us sing their praises once again

Singing
Tie a ribbon round the old oak tree
Make me down a pallet somewhere in a field
Drop a line into the creek in moonlit darkness I believe
We could be cowboys if our mothers would yield
That country road'll take us where we'd like to go
But this land was made to be our home

We carve our names in stone
And we plant our roots in bone
When the flames have gone
We come back strong

Singin
Tie a ribbon round the old oak tree
Make me down a pallet somewhere in a field
Drop a line into the creek in moonlit darkness I believe
We could be cowboys, oh if Mama would yield
That country road'll take us where we'd like to go
But this land was made to be our
This land was made to be our
This land was made to be our home