Wild Geese
Beyond the salty tideway,
and the wide deserted shore
the sea mixes colours with the sky
and the wild geese come, winging in,
like sails upon the wind
wayfaring strangers to the land
now I wonder what it's like to be,
beyond the midnight sun
with the diamond ice field's flashing
and the long day never done
Well I seem to here them
calling, in the language of the free
the spirit, of the wide north land
there are times and situations,
where a man must stand alone
believing he never, never had a friend
the walls crowd in to crush him
and words pierce him to the bone,
for he tries so hard to make it,
and he finds he just can't take it,
in the end
but there's a lesson in the silence,
you know it's as ageless as the sun
you're never, given more, than you can bear
and though you might just call to question,
all the things that you have done
that ain't gonna take you anywhere
for sunset bloods the water,
the wind blows endlessly
the wild geese fly the ancient trails,
across the evening sky
and I seem to hear them
calling, in the language of the free
the spirit, of the wide north land
the spirit, of the wide north land
and the wide deserted shore
the sea mixes colours with the sky
and the wild geese come, winging in,
like sails upon the wind
wayfaring strangers to the land
now I wonder what it's like to be,
beyond the midnight sun
with the diamond ice field's flashing
and the long day never done
Well I seem to here them
calling, in the language of the free
the spirit, of the wide north land
there are times and situations,
where a man must stand alone
believing he never, never had a friend
the walls crowd in to crush him
and words pierce him to the bone,
for he tries so hard to make it,
and he finds he just can't take it,
in the end
but there's a lesson in the silence,
you know it's as ageless as the sun
you're never, given more, than you can bear
and though you might just call to question,
all the things that you have done
that ain't gonna take you anywhere
for sunset bloods the water,
the wind blows endlessly
the wild geese fly the ancient trails,
across the evening sky
and I seem to hear them
calling, in the language of the free
the spirit, of the wide north land
the spirit, of the wide north land
Credits
Writer(s): Christopher John Simpson
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