|
Post by roger on Apr 15, 2007 14:59:13 GMT
I have considered starting this thread for a while but I have no idea where it might lead or whether or not it might prove worthwhile. Only one way to find out, so here goes... When I first heard this song a few years ago, I didn't instantly realise what it was all about. Throughout the first verse or so, I assumed it was just some pleasant little ditty for children. It is written as though sung by a little boy to his father - that much is obvious. See how far you get before the realisation hits you. What Colour Is The Wind by Charlie Landsborough
What colour is the wind, Dad Is it yellow, red or blue? When he's playing with my hair, Dad Does he do the same to you? When he's dying does his colour fade? Is a gentle breeze a lighter shade? Just like his friend the sea The wind feels blue to me.
When the blackbird starts to sing, Dad, Do the flowers hear him, too? When he's pouring out his heart, Dad Tell me, what do roses do? Do they cast their scent upon the air? And is fragrance just a rose in prayer? Giving thanks to God above For the blackbird's song of love.
CHORUS: Blow wind, blow Wild and free. My Daddy says You're a lot like me.
I know each colour Its shape and size; I've seen them all With my Daddy's eyes. I know that grass is green, Dad I've touched it with my toes. And snow is purest white, Dad I've felt it with my nose. But my favorite colour has to be The colour of your love for me, And Daddy, I've been told That love is always gold.
Blow wind, blow, etc.
__________ At some point you might have realise that the little boy has no concept of colour, or of things which may or may not have colour. If that thought has only just occurred to you, read it again. It might just break your heart. Roger
|
|
|
Post by grant on Apr 15, 2007 15:08:09 GMT
It didn't dawn on me Roger very moving little song. Grant
|
|
jeroen
Junior Member
Me and my old guitar
Posts: 72
|
Post by jeroen on Apr 15, 2007 19:26:57 GMT
Hi Roger, Interesting idea for a new thread, and what a great song to start it off. A couple of days ago we talked a bit about John Denver, so I thought I'd share the words to one of my favourites... The Wandering Soul (Love Is the Answer) Words and music by John Denver
In this magic hour of softening light The moments in between the day and the night The instant when all shadows disappear The distance in between the love and the fear There's a longing deep within the wandering soul It's like the half that understands it once was whole Like the two who only dream of being one Like the moon whose only light is in the sun
There's a danger in forever looking outside You start to believe that all your prayers have been denied And you forget the sound of your own name Thus begins the suffering and the pain
I wanted an answer, I wanted a way I wanted to know just what to do and what to say I wanted a reason, I want(ed) to know why Can there never be heaven right here on Earth and peace inside
Inside my heart, deep in my soul Within each part and in the whole
There's a promise in the journeys of the mind You begin to believe that there are miracles you will find And that someday you'll remember who you are The seed within a bright and shining star
It's like the flame that lives within a hungering heart That only awaits a gift of love for it to spark Into a fire that burns forever, endlessly Like the river that can't help but meet the sea
In this magic hour between the dark and the dawn In the space between the silence and the song Suddenly the mystery is clear That love is only letting go of fear
Love is the answer and love is the way Love is in knowing just what to do and what to say And love is the reason, love is the why And love is in heaven right here on Earth and peace inside
Inside your heart, deep in your soul Within each part and in the whole
Love is the answer and love is the way Love is in knowing just what to do and what to say Love is the reason, love is the why And love is in heaven right here on Earth and peace inside ....no explanation necessary, I think. Peace, Jeroen PS: I checked, Roger, and my collection is bigger than yours!
|
|
Joe
Administrator
Supporting Hayley since 2003!
Posts: 6,702
Member is Online
|
Post by Joe on Apr 16, 2007 1:10:23 GMT
These are the lyrics for 'Prayer for Papa' as sung by Amanda Von Trapp, aged 9. The little girl is missing her father who's away from home; and could either be at war or in hospital. A music clip of the first two verses is at the Von Trapp Children website under Volume 2, Track 13 Prayer for Papa words by Leslie Stone In the dark, you’re not there And I wonder if you’re sleeping I will try to be brave Keep my chin up without weeping Though you kept me safe when I was two And now there’s something I can do Oh, dear Lord, please, Bring my Papa home to me. Oh, dear Lord, shield him well Through the battles he is facing Set his course straight and true Keep him safe in your embracing As you watch each sparrow winging by Please watch him for me from my eye Oh, dear Lord, please, Bring my Papa home to me. Bridge Lord, I beg you, guard and keep him safe and warm And shelter him from the raging storm And forever in your debt I’ll always be Oh, Lord, hear my plea Bring Papa safely home to me I’ll tie a ribbon round my heart To mark the time where we’re apart Oh, dear Lord, please, Bring my Papa home to me.[/center]
|
|
|
Post by Caitlin on Apr 30, 2007 17:02:05 GMT
Hi everyone- I love listening to songs with meaningful lyrics. In fact, I usually listen to a song for the lyrics first and then the melody. Here's my meaningful lyrics... One World Celtic Woman
I hear a baby crying A sad sound, a loney sound I want to take her in my arms And then I dry away all her tears
I see a boy, who's frightened A young boy, with old eyes I long to say 'You're welcome here, You can be happy now that you're warm'
We're all a part of one world We all can share the same dream And if you just reach out to me Then you will find deep down inside I'm just like you
Loud voices raised in anger Speak harsh words, such cruel words Why do they speak so selfishly When we have got so much we can share?
So let your hearts be open And reach out with all your love There are no strangers now They are our brothers now And we are one
We're all a part of one world We all can share the same dream And if you just reach out to me Then will find deep down inside I'm just like you
We're all a part of one world We all can share the same dream And if you just reach out to me Then will find deep down inside I'm just like you
I'm just like you <3 Caite
|
|
|
Post by Stephany on Apr 30, 2007 19:01:49 GMT
Many thanks for sharing, Caite. I really love this song - it's very, very, very pretty. The lyrics are very meaningful.
|
|
|
Post by roger on May 7, 2007 19:02:36 GMT
When I began this thread, I could not have known of an event that would occur a few nights ago... I was travelling home from London quite late last Thursday night. As my train pulled out of Victoria Station, a girl in her late teens or early twenties stood at the far end of the carriage and began to speak. Her clothes were ragged and dirty and I doubt if clean water had touched her skin for months. She explained that she had no money for food and nowhere to sleep but that she hoped to go to a hostel if we were generous enough. She spoke well which suggested that she had received a reasonable education. What went wrong, I wondered. Where were her parents? And, almost dismissively, who am I to ask? As her speech ended, she approached the passengers in the seats closest to her. I saw no evidence of money changing hands but I heard her give them God's blessing nevertheless. She moved on and the same thing happened. And again at the next seats and so on. I was astonished when I noticed that she smiled pleasantly even though nobody was willing to help her. To my shame, I started to resent the fact that I was about to be approached and asked for money whilst travelling by public transport. I was aware of the regular announcements in the London stations requesting that passengers refrain from encouraging vagrants by giving them money. I decided to lower my head and pretend I was asleep in the hope that she would pass me by. As I did so, my eyes rested momentarily on the "Westenra of Christchurch, NZ" tartan tie that I was wearing and I immediately knew that Hayley would wish to help this girl. I began to ask myself some very different questions. If I gave her money, would she spend it wisely? And again, who am I to ask? I had just spent the evening in the Royal Albert Hall. The price I had paid for the ticket, with a little care, could have fed this girl for a week. Would she spend it wisely? Do we always spend our money wisely? Shouldn't she have the choice occasionally, as we do? Those of you who used to belong to my Writers and Artists forum may recognise those words. I included them in a song that I wrote years ago. How appropriate that it should have been called 'Beggar Girl'. Beggar Girl Somewhere in the darkness of the city A beggar girl lies on her bed of stone. Her only food today came from a bottle And her only converation was her own. Only empty cardboard boxes are her shelter With blankets of newspaper all around. So next time your passing won't you give her all you can, Or would you be content as a beggar man?
Beggar girl, it is a lonely life you made, Even though so many pass beside you. Beggar girl, your independence seems to fade, With every penny cast your way.
If you gave to her just a penny And the next man gave a penny more, Such would make no difference to your fortune But the beggar girl was never rich before. And if you gave the beggar girl a shilling, Would she spend it wisely, who can say? But she'd like the chance, I'm sure, just to make the choice, And who are we to argue anyway?
Beggar girl, it is a lonely life you made, Even though so many pass beside you. Beggar girl, your independence seems to fade, With every penny cast your way.
Now the beggar girl's city lies in ruins; Her empty boxes scattered all around. Her newspaper's torn; her bottle's broken, And another place of refuge must be found. So if you have a pound or a guinea, Or if you can but only spare a dime, Next time you're passing by just give her all you can, Unless you'd be content as a beggar man. [/center] Whether the girl on the train ate well that night, I will never know.... but at least an anonymous bloke with a tartan tie gave her the choice. Roger
|
|
|
Post by comet on May 7, 2007 19:54:28 GMT
+ Shall I take you by the hand and lead you through the streets of London
|
|
|
Post by grant on May 7, 2007 20:29:33 GMT
As I did so, my eyes rested momentarily on the "Westenra of Christchurch, NZ" tartan tie that I was wearing and I immediately knew that Hayley would wish to help this girl. I began to ask myself some very different questions. Yes Roger, I know exactly how you felt at that moment. Hayley has made me feel and see things in a different light on many occasions and I treasure the moment every time it happens. A very noble gesture from "the stranger in a tartan tie" - I too hope the girl ate well. Gorgeous lyrics by the way! Best wishes Grant
|
|
|
Post by Caitlin on May 7, 2007 21:32:38 GMT
I remember that song well Roger. It was always one of my favorites...
I sincerely hope that God blesses the kind stranger in a tartan tie for the wonderful thing he did.
<3 Caite
|
|
|
Post by gordon on May 7, 2007 21:36:37 GMT
A very moving report Roger. Hayley certainly touches all of our hearts.
Gordon
|
|
|
Post by fusilier23 on May 8, 2007 0:14:58 GMT
I sang this song for the first anniversary of 9/11. Although I don't fancy myself a hero, I saw some expressions on the faces of some real heroes there that seemed to say this is our song.
It's from the Scarlet Pimpernel, as Sir Percy and his men arm themselves and prepare to cross the Channel to save as many innocent people as they can from the guillotine.
Sir Percy: David walked into the valley With a stone clutched in his hand He was only a boy But he knew someone must take a stand
There will always be a valley Always mountains one must scale There will always be perilous waters Which someone must sail
Into valleys, into waters Into jungles, into hell Let us ride, let us ride home again with a story to tell Into darkness, into danger Into storms that rip the night Don't give in, but give up But give thanks for the glorious fight
You can tremble, you can fear it But keep your fighting spirit alive boys Let the shiver of it sting you Fling into battle, spring to your feet boys Never hold back your step for a moment Never doubt that your courage will grow Hold your head even higher and into the fire we go
Are there mountains that surround us? Are there walls that block the way? Knock 'em down, strip 'em back boys And forward and into the fray
Into terror, into valour Charge ahead, no, never turn Yes, it's into the fire we fly And the devil will burn
(Chorus joins in) Someone has to face the valley Rush in, we have to rally and win boys When the world is saying not to By God, you know you've got to march on, boys Never hold back your step for a moment Never doubt that your courage will grow Hold your head ever higher and into the fire we go
Let the lightning strike Let the flash of it shock you Choke your fears away Pull as tight as a wire Let the fever strike Let the force of it rock you We will have our day, sailing into the fire
(Chorus, rousing, male-voice harmonies) Someone has to face the valley Rush in! We have to rally and win boys (Arm yourselves!) When the world is saying not to By God, you know you've got to march on, boys (Disguises for everyone!) Never hold back your step for a moment Look alive! Oh, your courage will grow Yes, it's higher and higher and into the fire we go Into fire! Onward, ho!
|
|
Joe
Administrator
Supporting Hayley since 2003!
Posts: 6,702
Member is Online
|
Post by Joe on May 8, 2007 3:59:03 GMT
Hi all...
Lots of deep and meaningful lyrics have been posted.
Roger,
I know that bloke w/ the tartan tie gave that poor girl a choice. Do you not think that, after seeing All Angels perform that night, an angel can appear without her sparkle?
|
|
|
Post by postscript on May 8, 2007 9:46:28 GMT
Post No 6 in this thread. A humbling sharing experience Roger. Thank you. An excellent poem, too.
It is very difficult to know what to do in these circumstances. I think you raise a very valid point when you say, 'do we spend our own money wisely?' I f we were to be really watching the pennies, could we not do more for those who don't have a penny? What they do with it doesn't matter. What we are giving is not the penny, nor sustenance. We are giving a choice. That, I think is a very important message you put over, Roger. Don't see these disbursements as gifts or help but the offering of a choice. Somehow, that makes it all the more valuable.
I wonder about developing this subject further but then, what is the underlying message but a spin-off of the Hayley factor, which is why we are all here? So, I will.
I have not such an honourable tale to tell. I've experienced this scenario three times in my life--which might perhaps be seen as ominous in those familiar with Eastern tales of moral value! Or Brothers Grimm or Hans Andersen for that matter.
The first was a girl on a street corner in Oxford in mid-day and in summer, simply with her hand out and begging, whom I ignored--as did everyone else almost falling over her as they tried to cross the road. I was in my twenties at the time and she seemed of my own age and she's haunted me ever since. .
Perhaps mindful of that, there was a girl in a blanket lying in a subway round Green Park many years later. I gave her a fiver. Why her out of the several others I had passed before reaching her, all of whom were male, unshaven, ragged? She seemed somewhat cleaner and was young. Whatever. Perhaps it was memories of the Oxford girl.
The third time was recently. 2005 Shrewsbury, almost outside my hotel's rear entrance. I ignored her, as I ignore most of those hands held out with which London inevitably greets you at various times of the day in various parks and street corners.
I saw Hayley in her second visit to Shrewsbury and decided on my return--again, the Hayley factor--that if the girl was still there I would give her a fiver. The girl was still there, but a little way down the street. The previously woe-begone face was bright with fun. She was chatting with a boy her own age with whom familiarity indicated a long-term relationship if not fully a boy-friend. They were outside a pub whose inhabitants had spilt out onto the pavement and they each had half-full pint glasses in their hands. She was also smoking.
Your story, Roger makes very important, that what we are giving is not a gift, but an opportunity. A choice. That Oxford girl will always haunt me, as will I remember the woe-begone Shrewsbury face lit up with the drag of a cigarette and a pint glass. We are the fourth richest nation in the world (or third or fifth according to the statistics you choose) and we have the professional support services and organised charitable foundations a decent society should offer.
Apart from life's larger meaning and each of theirs in their turn, the Oxford girl periodically pricks my conscience when I am in hardheaded mode, while the Shrewsbury girl stops me being overly emotive when I might be inclined to be generous.
As for the Green Park subway girl? She was brightly receptive. 'Thanks'. Her hand received the fiver which promptly disappeared into the pocket of her jeans and she resettled herself. It seemed as if my fiver had triggered some clockwork mechanism, akin to these collection boxes for the Lifeboat on shop counters, where the life-boat receives the coin and deposits it in the base of the box.
What of Hayley herself? We know her to be spiritually aware, generous, emotive, as in her renditions through which she shows a remarkable understanding of life. She is hard-headed and firm of resolve in her professional administration. In her charity, well. 6,000 bikes for Ghanaians, that is indeed a wealth of opportunities. Then there are her various other associations and successes. All of which are specific, carefully chosen and with a known outcome that is intended.
The key word in your post, Roger, is choice. We can be hard-headed, therefore seeming mean, or wise. We can be emotive, seeming generous or foolish. We have our choice to respond through which we may give them a choice. These stories remind us, as perhaps we all have reminders of some sort in our memory banks, that butterflies are very important in the Amazonian jungle--especially if they stamp their feet!
Peter S.
|
|
|
Post by Richard on May 8, 2007 10:07:57 GMT
Hello Roger, Peter and everybody. I'm sorry to shatter your illusions, but it sounds as though the girl on the train was one of a large gang of professional beggars who target busy trains heading for the London suburbs in the evening. They are nothing more than actors reciting a script, and they make a lot of money this way! Richard
|
|