BLACK MORNING
Hot summer day, fishing pole in hand, waiting on that big one to strike.
The daily grind just a memory, doing what I really like.
And I still remember that sky so blue, the barn swallows bombing their meal.
But the last thing they all need to worry about now is somebody’s rod and reel.
And it seems like a hundred years ago,
I was happy just to roll on with the flow.
As the clouds of war were forming
I never dreamed of this Black Morning
Lord, it seems like a hundred years ago.
I remember the way I’d come home from work and head for that old easy chair.
The kids would be climbing all over my lap, the headlines the least of our cares.
From the looks in their eyes to the questions they’d ask, as if maybe I knew the score,
But I sure never thought that I would outlive the reasons I was living for.
And it seems like a hundred years ago,
I was happy just to roll on with the flow.
As the clouds of war were forming
I never dreamed of this Black Morning
Lord, it seems like a hundred years ago.
Now I can’t tell the day from night, there’s nothing left that I recognize.
I’m amazed by the things that I could not see, not even with a good pair of eyes.
There’s a hole in my heart where my world’s caved in, I know soon my race will be done.
Like the crazy race of the chosen few, I wonder if they know who won.
And it seems like a hundred years ago,
I was happy just to roll on with the flow.
As the clouds of war were forming
I never dreamed of this Black Morning
Lord, it seems like a hundred years ago.
Copyright © 1993 Searlesongs (ASCAP)