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praying for land lyrics:
1. Praying for Land
Out past the Windward Islands
waves beat their rhythms on the reef.
The wind sent them here from forever,
gifts from the sea.
Captains raised their glasses to forever
with fear still sparkling in their eyes.
Ships sailed past the first horizon -
planes into night.
You were Amelia when the plane hit the water,
Captain Smith when the iceberg took you down.
You were the dreams of Columbia's captain
in pieces on the ground.
You were the thousands who sailed for the new world
And the hundreds who made it safely home,
sun-bleached and torn by adventure,
weathered to the bone.
You are the dreamer; you are the hope of men:
Forever hoisting sail, forever pushing on,
forever praying for land.
You were Hillary and Norgay at the summit;
Neil Armstrong, with both feet on the ground,
you were Wilbur and Orrville yelling madly
as the plane touched down.
You're a sailor staring out at the ocean,
A child's telescope pointed at the sky.
You're the mother who names her child Amelia,
yearning to fly.
You are the dreamer; you are the hope of men:
forever hoisting sail, forever pushing on,
forever praying for land.
2. Lebanon
War-torn and broken, and so far away -
you don't feel the shells through a TV screen, or see a mother's pain.
It's the same old killing field, since before there were bombs -
I do it to you because you do it to me: Hammurabi made this war.
Why can't they stop the fighting - call the soldiers off -
Let the innocent prisoners go free? So many children dying, so many
homes destroyed. Where the justice, where the peace?
It's easy to ask why - but it's hard to look inside - through
the rubble and the dust. ´Cause we all have Lebanon inside of
us.
Half a world away, or halfway down the street, us and them is just
how
we see. That gated community could be Austin or Beirut -
they're both the same to me.
It's easy to ask why - but it's hard to look inside - through
the rubble and the dust. ´Cause we all have Lebanon inside of
us.
Why don't we say we're sorry to the ones we love the most? Stand down
our sentries with their guns? Break the walls around our hearts, speak
no more barbed wire. Stand close when fear tells us to run.
It's easy to ask why - but it's hard to look inside - through
the rubble and the dust. ´Cause we all have Lebanon inside of
us.
3. "I Will Come for You"
Harry Stone was a soldier in the spring of '44,
and Harry loved a woman who would never be his wife.
He met her in a restaurant in a quiet town in Belgium:
she liked his sweet demeanor, and so she took him home.
The summer months passed quickly in the sweetness of their loving.
It took away their longing, and his memories of the fight.
But with autumn came the orders - the troops were moving onward:
with teary eyes and bitter smiles, he swore that he'd return:
"I will come for you. I will be your husband.
We will be a family, and we will share our lives."
Each week he wrote her letters and prayed that he'd hear word
of the child she carried and of her life at home.
Fall of '46, he'd gone back to Pittsburgh. Still he wrote her letters,
but she never did respond.
"I will come for you. I will be your husband. We will be a family,
and
we will share our lives."
In August '48, he met another woman. They would raise a family
of three daughters in their home.
And he was almost eighty that winter afternoon,
when he heard a soft French voice on the telephone:
"Mr. Stone? I'm your daughter. Grandma hid the letters,
and never told my mother that you were still alive.
And mother never told me about the man who is my father.
I never saw your letters until after she had died."
"Can I come to you? Can I be your daughter? Can we be a family,
and
can we share our lives?"
4. Guatemala
Those mountains in the distance might be our salvation
if we could just get through tonight.
You say those words again, like a river cuts a canyon -
the cold unfeeling edge of a knife.
Twenty bucks between us, in an icy cold motel room
I put pen to paper as you sleep.
The canyon walls, they whisper the story of forever
as the rim rock bleeds into the dust under our feet.
I've never loved another half as much, or hurt a lover half as bad.
We never wanted anything but love:
what we got was Guatemala, and the road was all we had.
One tiny motorcycle is just too small a world
for hearts that flutter in the breeze.
So you wrapped yourself around me all the way through Mexico
but not even faith would set us free.
I've never loved another half as much, or hurt a lover half as bad.
We never wanted anything but love:
what we got was Guatemala, and the road was all we had.
You weren't in the frame when I drew that picture,
but the lines were loaded with your love.
Your soul was in the shadows, you breathed into the paper,
you said: "lives once together will forever live in love."
I've never loved another half as much, or hurt a lover half as bad.
We never wanted anything but love:
what we got was Guatemala, and the road was all we had.
5. Spirit of Amelia
In a world of crazy circumstance,
children's books and rocket ships,
at six years old I was bound for the stars.
My heroes were all travelers;
Jacques Cousteau and Curious George,
and a woman who would fly around the world.
As a child I dreamed I'd find her plane,
and pull it from the sea again,
so the world would know the truth about that flight.
I was born with the spirit of Amelia,
and Ferdinand Magellan by my side
there's the ghost of Edmund Hillary,
and he smiles as he salutes to me
and says "son, that's one hell of a ride."
The spirit of Amelia.
We push ourselves against the world,
because it's there, because we must.
Courage is the price we pay for peace.
And the ones who never understand
suck through their teeth and shake their heads
as another lonely traveler plays her hand.
She's lost the man on the radio,
no fuel left, and on she goes,
straining with her life to find land.
She was born with the spirit of Amelia,
and captain Tania Aebi by her side
there's the ghost of St. Exupéry,
and they smile as they salute to me
and say "son, that's one hell of a ride."
the spirit of Amelia.
"Itasca, where are you?"
"Itasca, where are you?"
I was born with the spirit of Amelia,
and there she is standing by my side.
They say, "welcome to the family,"
and they smile as they salute to me
and say "son, that's one hell of a ride."
The spirit of Amelia.
6. Draw the Line
Lines become squares become boxes:
boxes become lives, become our families.
I draw a circle and paint me in, paint you out:
what makes a circle of friends can make enemies
It comes down to who we love,
it comes down to how we love,
not where we draw the line.
I draw my circle to protect myself.
My box becomes my life, becomes our society.
Ignorance becomes violence, silence becomes fear:
fear becomes hate, becomes rage, becomes war.
It comes down to who we love,
it comes down to how we love,
not where we draw the line -
where we draw the line.
White and black, straight and gay, boy and girl:
whites kill blacks, straights kill gays, boys kill girls
Protestant and Catholic, Arab and Jew:
Where were you born, which church do you go to?
It comes down to who we love,
it comes down to how we love,
not where we draw the line -
where we draw the line.
7. War Stories
Why can't we just sit awhile,
out in front of a shop somewhere -
let the sun set behind us
into the banks of the Seine?
'Cause we all need someone
to listen to our war stories:
a loving ear will make it better.
When was the last time
we shared a continent?
or a fancy-schmancy
hotel on the main?
'Cause we all need someone
to help us heal our war wounds:
a loving ear will make it better.
When was the last time
we shared a continent?
or a picnic on the beach,
looking into the North Sea night,
and i might wonder
where you are -
'Cause we all need someone
to listen to our war stories:
a loving ear will make it better
8. Fair Winds and Following Seas
A gentle push off from the shoreline:
leaving land for the first time - it feels like home
it feels like home.
Greet the world of wind and wave:
the open ocean where the stars are bright as the day:
bright as the day.
Two pairs of hands hold the wheel;
heave the anchor, trim the sails, haul your nets in:
haul your nets in.
Two pairs of eyes read the charts:
scan the horizon, keep watch in the still of the night,
the still of the night.
Love shines bold like a beacon,
quiet as a telltale in the breeze.
I wish you fair winds, my friends,
and following seas.
I wish you fair winds, my friends,
and following seas.
9. Stronger for Your Flame
Some of us shine bold like Beetlejuice [sic] is bright:
a few you'd barely notice in the early evening light.
Some of us burn soft, like a lamp's sweetest oil:
others sputter smoke and ash in lives of pain and toil.
Some try to hide it behind a suit and tie,
or do the best they can in the world of nine to five.
Maybe you were all of this and more,
borrowed light from those who came before.
And the children who haven't yet been named
are stronger for your spark, stronger for your flame.
Were you a blazing ball of fire, before you were even born?
Did you find the cure for Polio, invent the telephone?
Or were you disobedient at the age of thirty-three,
when some ol' Roman soldier had you nailed up to a tree?
Maybe you were black and tired, on the front seat of a bus,
or on a protest march in Bombay lying facedown in the dust.
Maybe you were all of this and more,
borrowed light from those who came before.
And the children who haven't yet been named
are stronger for your spark, stronger for your flame.
What if there's no drama in the day to day?
Life a load of pots and pans, and diapers to be changed?
You'd rather climb a mountain, or walk to Timbuktu,
But the truest life burns just as strong, no matter what you choose.
You don't need to burn up in a brilliant ball of flame,
we'll be blessed, even if we never know your name.
Maybe you were all of this and more,
borrowed light from those who came before.
And the children who haven't yet been named
are stronger for your spark, stronger for your flame.
10. The Man With the Wandering Soul
You were just a girl, in those first few muffled sighs
as you drank the sweet moonlight reflected in his eyes
and those sacred words he whispered, you knew that he'd make good
as you held his body close, and swore you always would.
It was a Christmas card picture of the perfect family -
the two of you so beautiful, the twins had just turned three.
but in the quiet nights of loving, the sparkling moonlight left his
eyes.
the truth he never told you came as no surprise:
You were not his first love: he was seduced by the sea air on his skin.
and as a young man, he'd promised his heart to Aurora Borealis and the
stars.
Your double bed grew colder as the nights grew darker still -
his months away from home only sharpened winter's chill.
And as you prayed for Spring to come,
somehow you thought it never would.
You held tight what used to be, for that was all you could.
You were not his first love: he was seduced by the sea air on his skin.
and as a young man, he'd promised his heart to Aurora Borealis and the
stars.
Won't you see the sacred secret of this age-old story through -
you could find the road he loves, and it could lead to you.
Look into each other's souls with love in both your hands.
Pray for grace to see it through, and the strength to understand:
May he not be the reckless vagabond, as a kite without its string cannot
be whole.
and may you never be the widow of the man…
may you never be the widow of the man - with the wandering soul.
11) Ghost in the Machine
She's the crackle in the lines of code, the diamond in the verse's
ring,
The buzz and hum between the words of every song you sing.
She's the rhythm thumping through the wires of every living thing,
the stomp and roar is helped along by the sacrifice you bring.
´Cause poetry and power will force a grown man's tears,
a well placed line will bring him down, naked with his fears.
The song seeps through the shell, kills the cynic where he lays,
the knife of rhyme relentless in the things that it displays.
Not ours to question why - blood pumps in a vein.
Not ours to question - the sacred prayer for rain.
Not ours to question - the soul of things unseen.
Not ours to question - the Ghost in the machine.
It' the faintest whisper in your head in the stillest hour of night.
Scratch on virgin paper the things the voices write.
Creak of the hinges - the wind lets herself inside:
spills the tune into the strings and sends it down the line.
Not ours to question why - blood pumps in a vein.
Not ours to question - the sacred prayer for rain.
Not ours to question - the soul of things unseen.
Not ours to question - the Ghost in the machine.
Allahu, Elohim, God or Devil, I don't care.
'Cause sinners, saints, and songwriters have seen beyond the veil.
She's the crackle in the lines of code, the diamond in the verse's ring,
The buzz and hum between the words, the Ghost in the machine.
Not ours to question why - blood pumps in a vein.
Not ours to question - the sacred prayer for rain.
Not ours to question - the soul of things unseen.
Not ours to question - the Ghost in the machine.
12. Causeway (by Daithi Rua)
If I was [sic] a giant - and walked upon the land,
I'd go to Northern Ireland - find a beach of sand.
I'd step into the ocean and brave the tidal roar,
and finish what was started by some giant before.
If I could build a causeway, I'd build it to your door:
step by step and stone by stone - 'till we're apart no more.
I could walk to Scotland - and maybe I'd stop there.
I'd seek you in the mountains, seek you everywhere.
And if you're not in Scotland - then I would build on:
I'd be in Scandinavia before the day was done
If I could build a causeway, I'd build it to your door
step by step and stone by stone - 'till we're apart no more.
If in Scandinavia it was you I found
There in Oslo Harbour I would lay you down.
We would travel northward - see the northern lights
I'd take you in my giant's hands
And hold you all the night.
If I could build a causeway, I'd build it to your door
step by step and stone by stone - 'till we're apart no more.
Step by step and stone by stone - 'till we're apart no more.
All songs © Randall Williams except "Causeway" by Daithi
Rua: www.daithirua.com.
Randall Williams: rhythm guitars, lead and harmony vocals, lead guitar
on "Guatemala"
Slats Klug: Piano, Hammond, Wurlitzer, accordion, field organ
Jack Helsley: upright bass, electric fretted and fretless bass
Laura Cerulli: all drums and percussion, tasty groove
Krista Detor: harmony vocals, second vocal on "I will come for
you"
Gordon Lowry: fiddle, electric and acoustic lead guitar
Anne Hurley: cello, string pads
Dave Weber: harmony vocals on "Lebanon"
Zoom 123: funky drum loop on "Ghost in the Machine"
Produced by Dave Weber and Randall Williams
Recorded at Airtime Studio, Bloomington Indiana: airtimestudio.com
Mastered by Martin Giles at Alchemy Soho: alchemysoho.com
Graphic design by Jesse Stansfield, stansfieldphoto.com
Thanks to Dave and the gang for doing such amazing work. So many talented
people helping these songs come to life was deeply moving. Thanks to
Ashara for moral support, strong opinions, good company, and killer
Indian food. Cliff Eberhart, Jeff Talmadge, Ashara, Jesse and Rachael
helped make a bunch of really helpful last-minute decisions.
Thanks to Ricky Thompson at Larrivée and the Kyser team for
taking such good care of me. I play two Larrivée Guitars with
LR Baggs' iMix blender pickups, Kyser
Short-Cut, Drop-D and 6-string capos and Kyser medium gauge strings.
Booking: Jeff Robertson, Stone River Artists. booking@whereisrandall.com.
Deepest gratitude to you reading this for making my career possible.
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