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Lyrics for Let the Slave by Van Morrison:
| | | Artist: | Van Morrison |
| | Album: | A Sense of Wonder | | Track: | Let the Slave | | | | Date Added: | 18/10/2007 | | Views: | 199 | | | | Lyrics: | Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
Let him look up into the heavens and
laugh in the bnght air
Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
Whose
face has never seen a smile in thirty weary Years
Rose and look out; his chains are loose, his
dungeon doors are open;
And let his wife and children return from the oppressor's
scourge
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
Singing: The sun has
left his blackness and has found a fresher morning
And the fair Moon rejoices in the clear and
cloudless night
For empire is no more and now the Lion and Wolf shall cease
For
everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives
is holy
For everything that lixes is holy
What is the price of Experience? Do men
buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the
price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
Wisdom is sold in the
desolate market where none come to buy
And in the wither'd field where the farmer plows for
bread in vain
It is an easy thing to triumph in the summer's sun
And in the vintage and
to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the
afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry
raven's cry in wintry season
When the red blood is fill'd with wine and with the marrow of
lambs
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the
wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
To see a god on every wind and a blessing on
every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies'
house;
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field
And the sickness that cuts off his
children
While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door
And our children
bring fruits and flowers
Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten
And the
slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison
And
the soldier in the field
When the shatter'd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier
dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
Thus could I sing and
thus rejoice: but it is not so with me | | | |
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