The Holy Ground

I was born on the holy ground
 a running child in fields of clover
 i was living in the grandeur
 of my father's land
 By the side of the swirling sea
 i spent the days of childish wonder
 and the rocks i held in my young hands
 i never felt them slip away
 Well, the sun shone bright upon the waves
 and the wind blew high as i was leaving
 and i sailed so far away
 looking for adventure
 But i would not stay where the city streets
 proclaimed so loudly man's endeavors
 though music is a pretty thing
 in fine company
 And the wilderness took my breath away
 under a sun that never falters
 i felt i had to find my way
 where no one ever goes
 It was in the south that my new home lay
 with a dark-eyed boy and wild horses
 with humming birds and roses there
 in old mexico
 There the winds of change, they blew so far
 of liberty and revolution
 and it seemed that each man heard in his breast
 the drumming of a nation
 I was born on the holy ground
 a running child in fields of clover
 i was living in the grandeur
 of my father's land