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Grey
Mmm
That stormy morning felt like a dream.
He told me then of what he'd seen.
A child a man in times gone bad.
Faces of stone lined hard and sad.
One Sunday day they all came home.
All that they had was burned and gone.
The timber men their pistols gleamed.
A lifetime lost on Palastine.
He made a stand.
He would not run.
He dropped the h*e and picked up the gun.
And then one night he disappeared.
It fed the worst of all their fears.
They found him quiet high in a tree.
He flew away from Palastine.
Mmm
Then came the day they moved away.
More gunmen came.
They could not stay.
To Glen St. Mary.
To Olustee.
But we still dream of Palastine.
Mmm ..
Mmm
Mmm
Mmm
