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Waiting on an elevator - in a hotel out in |
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California |
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Smog clouds up in the windows - but there is a plaque up on the wall |
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That tells of the |
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Agoras - people who were here long before us |
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Before the covered wagons - before they lost it all |
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They were hunters - they were fishermen und they often fought each other |
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But one small tribe was different - their leader was a peaceful man |
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They were weavers - they were painters - trading pelts for pretty colours |
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Protected by the warriors for the beauty in their hands |
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Roll back the years - roll back the years - to the river of tears |
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The chief he had a daughter - she was young and she was beautiful |
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He said, "Go into the forest - get some berries for the dyeBut make your way back quickly - for the old bear's getting hungryI don't want you out there - when the sun falls from the sky" |
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Her basket filled with berries - she headed back toward the village |
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When a mighty roar erupted - she ran und hid inside a hollow tree |
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Shadows were getting longer - the forest was getting colder |
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And the chief began to panic - where could his daughter be? |
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Lost in the years - lost in the years - on the river of tears |
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In the camp the fires were dying when the old chief started crying |
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Soon all the tribe were crying - the ground grew wet beneath their feet |
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And the tears they turned to water and the water became a river |
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And the river flowed like an arrow - to the foot of a hollow tree |
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And the girl looked out in wonder - as she saw the water falling |
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She knew it was her father and she swam to his canoe |
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And all the tribe stopped crying - and the river started subsiding |
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Into the hill of the |
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Agoras - and so the legend grew |
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Roll back the years - roll back the years |
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Roll back the years - to the river of tears |
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I wish all the world was healing |
