Hunched in a field, you sing in deep voices
The seeds and the soil of a world without choices
Take off your clothes at the end of the day
Lie down in a bed made of burlap and hay
The sun sinks, the sky pinks through your window so crude
Your feet hard, your back scarred, your stomach needs food
But you see your ancestors line up in brown
You hear their solemn songs sung in a round
Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.
Wiping your brow with the back of your brown hand
Your eyes are like horses, they run across this land
You see more than most, around corners and curves
Your heavy mind stays when the lighter mind swerves
Steady and patient, heavy and kind
Wearing brown pants made of burlap and twine
Nose to the grindstone, monks of the dirt
Callouses, sunsets, and visions that hurt
Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.
Your eyes follow time when it curves round the bend
You watch all the lighter ones run to destruction
They were mistaken, they thought life had an end
They ate all their seeds and then came to the bend
Shocked to discover the road just continued
Forced to keep marching without any food
You hear their cries and it makes your heart burn
But how can you give to them the things they must earn?
Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.
You know forever, you know eternity
As plain as the table where you sit for your cup of tea
You counsel your children to never waste seeds
Life is long, you must be strong, persist in good deeds.
You tell them to remember when they labor in the fields
To listen to the voices that sing in their ears
To those who are patient all will be revealed
Remember who you are, my sons- potatoes in a field.
Voice so low, Voices so deep
They crossed the ocean for you
They crossed the ocean so you could arrive
They never died.