We are born unto our own
Sapling seeds from old growth
Raised up tall and cut down low
So we are, and so we go
Turned from home, handled, and hauled
Shaped and sanded, bent and sawed
Many hands and many years gone
Write every one our songs
Play we all
True songs
We sing them right
We sing them wrong
Tuned up tightly
And passed along
Like old guitars
We breathe
Songs
Long to be held in arms
And loved and played by heart
Days of light and days of dark
All resolve the broken parts
Hands of old, hands of young
Hands of gentle, hands of rough
Every one with a song to teach
Some sing pain, some sing peace
Play we all
True songs
We sing them right
We sing them wrong
Tuned up tightly
And passed along
Like old guitars
We breathe
Songs
Upon our faces many lines show
Traces of time like pen strokes
Words and changes and passing notes
And scars where the skin broke
Play we all
True songs
We sing them right
We sing them wrong
Tuned up tightly
And passed along
Like old guitar
We breathe
Songs
We breathe songs