Our Father’s Sons (The ’59 Sound Sessions)

Help me sing
All you weary strangers raise your voice
In this chain gang chorus in our younger days
My brothers, we were naive sailors
Storms we'd all endure
Oh the road, oh you who sing her praises of dust and bones
The places that she takes us, the choice is ours
We wanted much more than our fathers
While our mothers said their prayers

Now we're moving on up, to the east side
We finally got a piece of the pie, of the pie

Baby doll
All you women of the travelers, your empty arms
Your patient hearts in waiting, bless your hearts
And your never-ending patience
I could not go on without you
We're all the same
All blue and bright white collars, we're all the same
Our troubles and our sorrows and underneath
Blood and bone and mixture
Though we dance to different songs

And our songs you sing along
(Whoaaa whoa whoa whoa whoa
Whoaaa whoa whoa whoa whoa
Whoaaa whoa whoa whoa whoa)

And our songs you sing along
(Whoaaa whoa whoa whoa whoa
Whoaaa whoa whoa whoa whoa
Whoaaa whoa whoa whoa whoa)

Every man, every woman with a burden raise your hands
Raise'em up to the firmament, see those hands
Meet your brothers and your sisters, use your hands
We are our father's sons