Woorden: Residents. Migration.

We're rising as the sun retreats into the trees
Thinking of our destination as we start to leave
Marching to the sea, we're marching to the sea

Marching to the sea, we're marching to the sea
Marching to the sea, we're marching to the sea
Marching to the sea, marching to the sea
Marching to the sea, we're marching to the sea

Marching to the sea, marching to the sea
Marching to the sea, we're marching to the sea
Marching to the sea, marching to the sea
Marching to the sea, we're marching to the sea

Smiling from the gentle touches of the evening breeze
And no one is unhappy now and no one is fatigued
We're marching to the sea, marching to the sea

I'm a tired old man in a tired old land
Watching shadows moving across the sand
Now they move at night and I understand
That they cannot see more than they can stand

I have been deceived, I have been murdered
I have seen the soul of a unborn lamb
It can burn a hole in a guilty man
But it cannot stand in a foreign land

We have left our lamb, we have left our land
We have left behind all we understand
Now we must cry out, yes, we must demand
That children live in a land that's low

Where the holes are deeper than light can go
Let them have not pride but instead a soul
That sees the shame of the hands that hold