Richie Havens все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

Freedom
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom
Freedom

Zippin' up my boots,
Goin' back to my roots,
Yeah,
Take the place of my birth,
Back down to earth,
I've been standin' in the rain,
Drenched and soaked with pain,
Tired of short time benefits,

Hey, look yonder, tell me what's that you see
Marching to the fields of Concord?
Looks like Handsome Johnny with a musket in his hand
Marching to the Concord war, hey, marching to the Concord war

Hey, look yonder, tell me what's that you see
Marching to the fields of Gettysburg?
Looks like Handsome Johnny with a flintlock in his hand

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Morning, morning
Feel so lonesome in the morning
Morning, morning
Morning brings me grief

Sunshine, sunshine,
Sunshine left upon my face

Step out in the night
When you get lonely
Listen for the sounds
City ears don't hear
I know your cross is heavier
With every step
But I know a man
And he'd walk miles for you

My love so dear, as this life you are to near
Your kiss, so clear as the crystals of the sea

Please save me I am falling here I am lost and alone
And angel weeps, I hear your cry a lonely prayer,
A voice on high, dry all your tears, come with me
And in the end the sun will rise on one more day, hey

SONG BY LEONARD COHEN

And who will write love songs for you
when I am lord at last
and your body is some little highway shrine
that all my priests have passed,
that all my priests have passed?

I got the blues from my baby
Down by the San Francisco bay,
The ocean liner's gone so far away
Didn't mean to treat her so bad,
She was the best girl I ever have had,
She said goodbye,
I can take a cry,
I want to lay right down and die

You
Who are on the road
Must have a code that you can live by and so become yourself
Because the past is just a goodbye
Teach your children well
Their father's hell did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked

The sweet pretty things are in bed now of course
The city fathers they're trying to endorse
The reincarnation of Paul Revere's horse
But the town has no need to be nervous

The ghost of Belle Starr she hands down her wits
To Jezebel the nun she violently knits
A bald wig for Jack the Ripper who sits

You poison my sweet waters; you chop down my green trees
And the food you feed my children is the cause of that ill disease
My world is slowly falling down and the air is not fit to breathe
And those of us who care enough, we have to do something
Oh, what you gonna do about me
Oh, what you gonna do about me

Your newspapers – they just put you on