Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Weather Report Suite: Prelude / Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 [Let It Grow], artist - Grateful Dead. Album song Dick's Picks Vol. 7: Alexandra Palace, London, England 9/9/74 - 9/11/74, in the genre Иностранный рок
Date of issue: 23.03.2009
Record label: Grateful Dead, Rhino Entertainment Company
Song language: English
Weather Report Suite: Prelude / Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 [Let It Grow] |
Winter rain, now tell me why |
Summers fade, and roses die |
The answer came |
The wind and rain |
Golden hills, now veiled in gray |
Summer leaves have blown away |
Now what remains? |
The wind and rain |
And like a desert spring |
My lover comes and spreads her wings (flowing) |
Like a song that’s born to soar the sky (flowing) |
Flowing 'till the waters all are dry (flowing) |
The loving in her eyes |
Circle songs and sands of time |
And seasons will end in tumbled rhyme |
And little change |
The wind and rain |
And like a desert spring |
My lover comes and spreads her wings (flowing) |
Like a song that’s born to soar the sky (flowing) |
Flowing 'till the rivers all are dry (flowing) |
The loving in her eyes |
(Winter gray and falling rain) |
(We'll see summer come again) |
(Darkness falls and seasons change) |
Gonna happen every time |
(Same old friends the wind and rain |
We’ll see summer by and by |
Summers fade and roses die |
(You'll see summer come again) |
Like a song that’s born to soar the sky |
Morning comes, she follows the path to the river shore |
Lightly sung, her song is the latch on the morning’s door |
See the sun sparkle in the reeds, silver beads, pass into the sea |
She comes from a town where they call her the woodcutter’s daughter |
She’s brown as the bank where she kneels down to gather her water |
And she bears it away with a love that the river has taught her |
Let it flow, greatly grow, wide and clear! |
Round and round, the cut of the plow in the furrowed field |
Seasons round, the bushels of corn and the barley meal |
Broken ground, open and beckoning to the spring |
Black dirt live again! |
The plowman is broad as the back of the land he is sowing |
As he dances the circular track of the plow ever knowing |
That the work of his day measures more than the planting and growing |
Let it grow, let it grow, greatly yield! |
What shall we say, shall we call it by a name? |
As well to count the angels dancing on a pin |
Water bright as the sky from which it came |
And the name is on the earth that takes it in |
We will not speak but stand inside the rain |
And listen to the thunder shout «I am! |
I am! |
I am! |
I am!» |
So it goes, we make what we make since the world began |
Nothing more, the love of the women, the work of men |
Seasons round, creatures great and small |
Up and down as we rise and fall |
What shall we say, shall we call it by a name? |
As well to count the angels dancing on a pin |
Water bright as the sky from which it came |
And the name is on the earth that takes it in |
We will not speak but stand inside the rain |
And listen to the thunder shout «I am! |
I am! |
I am! |
I am!» |