| Over the mountains and out across the trees
|
| On weathered wings he soars into the edges of the breeze
|
| Over the water and out across the fields
|
| With eagle eye he watches he’s seeing what our hearts can never see
|
| And he speaks to me
|
| From up here I’ve seen your broken truth
|
| I have heard that old eternal lie
|
| From way up here I’ve seen the wasted youth
|
| From up here I’ve heard the old man cry
|
| Saying who am I?
|
| Through the hazels and along the Druthy burn
|
| On feathered feet she’s silent as to her young ones she returns
|
| Over the moon and up the Ben-A-Caly hill
|
| On her lookout rock she watches she’s seeing what our hearts can never see
|
| And she speaks to me
|
| From up here I’ve seen your broken truth
|
| I have heard that old eternal lie
|
| From way up here I’ve seen the wasted youth
|
| From up here I’ve heard the old man cry
|
| Saying who am I?
|
| Life touches nothing life teaches what it can
|
| It can hold us all to ransom the woman and the man
|
| Over the mountains and out across the trees
|
| On weathered wings he soars into the silence on the edges of the breeze
|
| And he speaks to me
|
| From up here I’ve seen your broken truth
|
| I have heard that old eternal lie
|
| From way up here I’ve seen the wasted youth
|
| From up here I’ve heard the old man cry
|
| Saying who am I? |