Saints and children, we have gathered here to hear the sacred story,
And I'm glad to bring it to you with my best rhyming and rhythm,
'Cause I know the thirsty listen, and down to the waters come,
And the holy king of Israel loves me here in America.
And if you listen to my songs, I hope you hear the water falling,
I hope you feel the oceans crashing on the coast of north New England,
I wish I could be there just to see them, two summers past I was,
And the holy king of Israel loves me here in America.
If I were a painter, I do not know which I'd paint, the calling of the ancient stars or assembling of the saints,
And there's so much beauty around us for just two eyes to see...but everywhere I go, I'm looking.
And once I went to Appalachia, for, my father, he was born there,
And I saw the mountains waking with the innocence of children,
And my soul, it's still there with them, wrapped in the songs they brought,
And the holy king of Israel loves me here in America.
And I've seen, by the highways, on a million exit ramps, those two-legged memorials to the laws of happenstance,
Waiting for four-wheeled messiahs to take them home again...but I am home anywhere, if you are where I am.
And if you listen to my songs, I hope you hear the water falling,
Hope you feel the oceans crashing on the coast of north New England,
Wish I could be there just to see them, two summers past I was,
And the holy king of Israel loves me here in America.
