The Holy Ground (trad.)

I was born on the holy ground

A running child in fields of clover

I was living in the grandeur

Of my father's land

By the side of the swirling sea

I spent the days of childish wonder

And the rocks I held in my young hands

I never felt them slip away

Well, the sun shone bright upon the waves

And the wind blew high as I was leaving

And I sailed so far away

Looking for adventure

But I would not stay where the city streets

Proclaimed so loudly man's endeavors

Though music is a pretty thing

In fine company

And the wilderness took my breath away

Under a sun that never falters

I felt I had to find my way

Where no one ever goes

It was in the south that my new home lay

With a dark-eyed boy and wild horses

With humming birds and roses there

In old Mexico

There the winds of change, they blew so far

Of liberty and revolution

And it seemed that each man heard in his breast

The drumming of a nation

I was born on the holy ground

A running child in fields of clover

I was living in the grandeur

Of my father's land