Van Morrison - Let the Slave (Incorporating The Price of Experience) lyrics
[Van Morrison - Let the Slave Incorporating The Price of Experience lyrics]
Let the slave grinding at the mill
Run out into the field
Let him look up into the heavens
And laugh in the bright air
Let the inchained soul
Shut up in darkness and in sighing
Whose face has never seen a
Smile in thirty weary years
Rose and look out his chains are loose
His dungeon doors are open
And let his wife and children
Return from the oppressor's scourge
They look behind at every step and believe
And believe it is a dream
Singing: The sun has left his blackness
And has found a fresher morning
And the fair moon rejoices in
The clear and cloudless night
For the empire is no more and now
The lion and wolf shall cease
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
What is the price of experience? Do
Men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No
It's bought with the price
Of all that man hath, his hearth, his wife
His children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market
Where none can come to buy
And in the withered field where the
Farmer plows for bread in vain
It is an easy thing to
Triumph in the summer's sun
And in the vintage and to sing
On the wagon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk
Of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence
To the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry raven's
Cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filled with wine
And with the marrow of lambs
It is an easy thing to
Laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door
The ox in the slaughterhouse moan
To see a god on every wind
And a blessing on every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm
That destroys our enemies' house
To rejoice in the blight
That covers his field
And the sickness that cuts off his children
While our olive and vine sing
And laugh 'round our door
And our children bring fruit's and flowers
Then the groan and the
Dolor are quite forgotten
And the slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains and
The poor in the prison
And the soldier in the field
When the shattered bone hath laid him
Groaning among the happier dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice
In the tents of prosperity
Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but
It is not so with me
Run out into the field
Let him look up into the heavens
And laugh in the bright air
Let the inchained soul
Shut up in darkness and in sighing
Whose face has never seen a
Smile in thirty weary years
Rose and look out his chains are loose
His dungeon doors are open
And let his wife and children
Return from the oppressor's scourge
They look behind at every step and believe
And believe it is a dream
Singing: The sun has left his blackness
And has found a fresher morning
And the fair moon rejoices in
The clear and cloudless night
For the empire is no more and now
The lion and wolf shall cease
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
What is the price of experience? Do
Men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No
It's bought with the price
Of all that man hath, his hearth, his wife
His children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market
Where none can come to buy
And in the withered field where the
Farmer plows for bread in vain
It is an easy thing to
Triumph in the summer's sun
And in the vintage and to sing
On the wagon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk
Of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence
To the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry raven's
Cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filled with wine
And with the marrow of lambs
It is an easy thing to
Laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door
The ox in the slaughterhouse moan
To see a god on every wind
And a blessing on every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm
That destroys our enemies' house
To rejoice in the blight
That covers his field
And the sickness that cuts off his children
While our olive and vine sing
And laugh 'round our door
And our children bring fruit's and flowers
Then the groan and the
Dolor are quite forgotten
And the slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains and
The poor in the prison
And the soldier in the field
When the shattered bone hath laid him
Groaning among the happier dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice
In the tents of prosperity
Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but
It is not so with me