Migration - The Residents

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