| and the wide deserted shore
|
| the sea mixes colours with the sky
|
| and the wild geese come, winging in,
|
| like sails upon the wind
|
| wayfaring strangers to the land
|
| now I wonder what it’s like to be,
|
| beyond the midnight sun
|
| with the diamond ice field’s flashing
|
| and the long day never done
|
| Well I seem to here them
|
| calling, in the language of the free
|
| the spirit, of the wide north land
|
| there are times and situations,
|
| where a man must stand alone
|
| believing he never, never had a friend
|
| the walls crowd in to crush him
|
| and words pierce him to the bone,
|
| for he tries so hard to make it,
|
| and he finds he just can’t take it,
|
| in the end
|
| but there’s a lesson in the silence,
|
| you know it’s as ageless as the sun
|
| you’re never, given more, than you can bear
|
| and though you might just call to question,
|
| all the things that you have done
|
| that ain’t gonna take you anywhere
|
| for sunset bloods the water,
|
| the wind blows endlessly
|
| the wild geese fly the ancient trails,
|
| across the evening sky
|
| and I seem to hear them
|
| calling, in the language of the free
|
| the spirit, of the wide north land
|
| the spirit, of the wide north land |