A SEA SONG, PART 1
(C) (P) BY PAUL HALL, 1987
The pulse of the waves in moonlight, a new dawn's light, past the sea under southern skies, Ireland, Spain, waters of rivers are healed, clear waters of the Pacific Islands, South Carolina, silver tide, the dream of the rivers touching the sea, algae blooms, dauphins, ozone holes, open our eyes beyond our neon-lit skies, nomads in their dugout canoes, seagull gliding over silver seas, secrets of the deep, insomnia will fight, the blue bow of our thoughts, past the stars in the sky, waves beyond the stars
A SEA SONG, PART 1
Written and recorded on location in North Ryde, Sidney, Australia in 1989, By Paul Hall.
(c) (p) by Paul Hall, 1987
I went to the sea,
to the pulse of the waves
by the moonlight,
in the moonlight in the night.
In the night.
I went to the sea,
felt the wind on my face,
and the night birds
they flew by in the night.
In the cool night.
The wind in my ears
and a new dawn's light appears.
beyond the glow of the sunlight,
past the dawn.
A new day moving on.
A new life.
A new song.
Listen to the song of the sea.
It's bigger than you,
it's bigger than me.
Listen, if you can,
to where our courses ran.
I've walked past the sea
under southern skies,
I've walked past the sea
'neath the northern lights.
Walked past the ocean's glow
in Ireland.
I've seen the coasts of sunny Spain.
I've seen the blue
Felt the tide flowing.
Now you've gone to live there,
just as it was in some distant prayer
and that may be
were you may find
something so rare.
Something rare.
The flowing movements
of something that will never stop
where the waters of the rivers
are healed.
Something that joins the land
with the sky
where the sunrise
and the sunset
are never alike.
Where the flowing movement speaks
like hushed whispers
or the raging is so fierce
it will move the coastline
like a dozen fleecy sheep.
It gives you your breath
and memories you may keep.
I've seen it in the warm clear waters
of the Pacific Islands
or off the coasts of South Carolina.
And the sea rolls by
and it touches the sky
and it gives you something
worth dreaming for.
You can touch her silver tide
in the clear of the night
as the moon glides overhead
and the night birds
Can you listen to the pulse?
Can you listen to the dream
of the rivers
touching the sea?
As the ice melts away
in the greenhouse display
and the algae blooms
so unnaturally
and the dauphins refuse to play
in the tide of bay,
never mind.
Chere cherchee.
Water.
Water.
Purifying water.
The sunlight
beating so strange
through the ozone holes
in the sky.
When will we be able
to return?
When
there were fish in abundance
and clams did not die
and the coral fish
were healthy and strong
beneath the pure blue sky.
There's hope for healing.
There's hope for a future time.
If we open our eyes
beyond our neon-lit skies
and listen
to the song
of the sea.
Soft tides a-rolin'
and the green flowin'.
Soft tides rolin' by.
Softly
we listen to the time
passing by.
Can you see the bright notion
past the starlight in the sky?
Can you see
where we must go?
As the travelers,
the nomads,
in their dugout canoes
used to know.
Can you pick up
on the signals
of spoken songs
beyond the flowing tides,
that we waited for so long?
Can you hear a new world a-callin',
"Rise up, my daughter,
and live"?
There's a whole world out there
waiting for you to care,
waiting for you to share.
When will we
sail beyond
-- beyond
to the song of the tides
where the glowing green
kisses the soft pure sand?
Then we will know
that we have no need
for our things
so great and grand.
So great and grand.
There was a seagull gliding
over silver seas.
His food was there beside him
whenever he had need.
But now the gulls they follow
the laden garbage barge.
The tragic makes it's inference.
How negative it's charge.
what is he dumping?
Has anybody guessed?
For gull to leave
it's silver seas,
man must have dumped
his best.
As we went past the flow,
as it splashed over our toes,
there were worlds for us to know
beyond man's senseless shallow show.
And we looked beyond
to something o so deep.
There are hopes for us there.
There are promises to keep
and secrets
of the deep.
Sailing the wind
of an unbroken blue sky.
Sailing along,
westward we fly.
And there was never
a thing to stop us.
Our love
moved us on
like song.
And birds
spoke to us
with words
that were never wrong.
Stars in the sky
so late at night.
You should be sleeping, you know?
But the insomnia will fight
against every shred of reason and logic.
And you're rewarded
by silver dust
stored
in your mind.
What is this that we see?
It's something absolutely free.
They told us in school
something for nothing
was strictly
against the rule.
But the sights fill our eyes
beyond the lovely red skies
of sunset
and the stars
tell us stories
that are true.
Flow on, flow.
Beyond the harbors we will go.
Past the bell buoys
to the awakening
of the thoughts
that light our minds.
Flow,
flow.
Past the harbors
we will go.
Past the bell buoys
and far out to sea.
And the waves
wash past
the blue bow
of our thoughts;
the wind will tell us stories
that no book seller
has ever bought.
And we set sail for new ports
beyond all thoughts or eyes
that will take us
past the stars
in the skies.
Past the stars,
past the stars
in the sky.
There are so many stories
that man has never heard.
The television people
won't sell a thing
so they don't dare
whisper a word.
There are lessons
that no teacher
will dare to teach
and there are lessons
that no preacher
could ever preach.
Where shall we read the textbooks
that will take us
out of our shells?
Where will we read the lessons
that are not for hire?
Beyond the messages
of the waters
of the sea.
Beyond the stars,
beyond those pinpoints of fire.
Can you see the waves
beyond the stars?
Do you see them lap
distant shores?
There are jars
of universes
yet to behold,
and we pass them
like the mariners of old.
We have not the past
to thank for this
for this is the present
that the future has kissed.
Shall we trace the roots of the shells?
Wind chimes that blow in the wind.
Or the Aeolian harp on the hillside
when the singing begins?
Or shall we try
for the spontaneity
of the tides?
Shall we learn the lessons
of beyond
without remittance,
with just a song?
With just a song
to carry us on.
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Copyright and Phonorecord (c) (p) 1987 by Paul A. L. Hall. All rights reserved.