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Chris De Burgh Footsteps

Blackbird singing in the dead of night, Take these broken wings and learn to fly, All your life, You were only waiting for this moment to arise; Blackbird

I hear the drums echoing tonight, But she hears only whispers of some quiet conversation, She's coming in twelve-thirty flight, Her moonlit wings reflect

fly, And from that mountain I reached for the sky; Through tears and good times, I found my way; Those years are calling me again; Then I hear footsteps

I will tell of a hunter whose life was undone, By the cruel hand of evil at the setting of the sun, His arrow was loosed and it flew through the dark

It?s a lesson too late for the learning, Made of sand, made of sand, In the wink of an eye my soul is turning, In your hand, in your hand; Are you going

To everything, turn, turn, turn, There is a season, turn, turn, turn, And a time to every purpose under heaven; A time to be born, a time to die, A time

Where have all the flowers gone, Long time passing, Where have all the flowers gone, Long time ago, Where have all the flowers gone, Picked by young

fly, And from that mountain I reached for the sky; Through tears and good times, I found my way; Those years are calling me again; Then I hear footsteps