A long way from Pharoah's hand,
and a quick step from the Promised Land,
a quick step from Palestine,
and a heart-beat from this heart of mine:
rock-fall at the Wailing Wall,
and the temple-keepers fly
to where Time machines those great, green trees
to a holy timber-land.
I was raised in the shade
of the Cedars of Lebanon,
and I've bathed in bay
where sailors burned the sand,
then gave the glass to man
and all his kind;
past the sight of land,
they rode on ships to Spain
for what they'd find.
Big towns, and your hearts are down,
and your eyes burn your heels get round.
Smoke's up, and the sky turns brown?
there's a place you know, where your fancy grounds.
No dreams on silver screens,
they've found a place to hide:
the Holy Land of gods and man
is where your spirit flies.
I was raised in the shade
of the Cedars of Lebanon,
and I've bathed in bay
where sailors burned the sand,
then gave the glass to man
and all his kind;
past the sight of land,
they rode on ships to Spain
for what they'd find.
and a quick step from the Promised Land,
a quick step from Palestine,
and a heart-beat from this heart of mine:
rock-fall at the Wailing Wall,
and the temple-keepers fly
to where Time machines those great, green trees
to a holy timber-land.
I was raised in the shade
of the Cedars of Lebanon,
and I've bathed in bay
where sailors burned the sand,
then gave the glass to man
and all his kind;
past the sight of land,
they rode on ships to Spain
for what they'd find.
Big towns, and your hearts are down,
and your eyes burn your heels get round.
Smoke's up, and the sky turns brown?
there's a place you know, where your fancy grounds.
No dreams on silver screens,
they've found a place to hide:
the Holy Land of gods and man
is where your spirit flies.
I was raised in the shade
of the Cedars of Lebanon,
and I've bathed in bay
where sailors burned the sand,
then gave the glass to man
and all his kind;
past the sight of land,
they rode on ships to Spain
for what they'd find.
Contributed by Piersante Sestini - 2023/8/15 - 02:37
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Scritta in Irlanda nel 1974,alla vigilia della guerra civile libanese (quella che porterà, fra l’altroalla strage di di Sabra e Chatila). Una dichiarazione di solidarietà per il popolo libanese, che Moore conosceva per esservi cresciuto dai 12 ai 17 anni e che soffriva nelle mani dei suoi vicini siriani e israeliani