Promised Land  - ListenHere      

I hear a new horn and a child’s voice,

and a tumbling wall that won’t fall by choice,

and a word that begins when it ends another day.

Deep in the city where the prayers are sung

and the words are short and they cut your tongue

out at night, there’s a ritual for the young to dance away.

Some folks believe in magic,

some folks believe in truth,

some folks  think it’s tragic

that I might believe in you.

Under the streets where the lamps will glow,

the lights are dreams of an undertow,

of a flood that’s rising up above your soul today.

Nobody knows what the night will bring,

when the cold and rain make the sirens sing

a refrain of a song without words for us to pray.

Some folks believe in magic,

some folks believe in truth,

some folks think it’s tragic

that I might believe in you.