Paul's Policies

🌾 Lost Men – A Folk Anthem

✏️ Lyrics rewritten by Paul Morris

[Verse 1]
There were once some lost men hiding in the pine, (A)
Dreams like scattered embers drifting through the air. (C)
They feared the open meadow past the shadowed line, (B)
But hope kept softly calling, “There’s a future there.” (D)

They built their brittle shelters from forgotten wood, (A)
While silence held them captive in its heavy chain. (C)
They longed to trade the darkness for a life of good, (B)
To walk a road where sunlight warms the fields again. (D)

[Chorus]
🌱 We are not lost men anymore,
We’re planting seeds in ancient soil.
Tiny homes with open doors,
Hands made strong by honest toil.
From the forest’s edge we roam,
To farms where freedom makes its home.

[Verse 2]
They dig the ground for kernels sleeping long and deep, (A)
The three sisters waking — corn and beans entwined. (C)
Their roots remember stories that the rivers keep, (B)
Of those who fed this land before the ships arrived. (D)

They plant with care and reverence where the seasons turn, (A)
And feel the pulse of ages rising from the clay. (C)
Each row a line of wisdom they have yet to learn, (B)
Each harvest sings of promise and a brighter day. (D)

[Chorus]
🌱 We are not lost men anymore,
We’re planting seeds in ancient soil.
Tiny homes with open doors,
Hands made strong by honest toil.
From the forest’s edge we roam,
To farms where freedom makes its home.

[Verse 3]
They build with cedar rafters, clay beneath their feet, (A)
And greet the dawn with courage where they once would hide. (C)
No longer bound by sorrow on a forest street, (B)
They walk with steady purpose and a humble pride. (D)

The soil tells its stories softly in the breeze, (A)
Of peoples who once thrived where rivers twist and flow. (C)
The men now guard that memory in rows of trees, (B)
And learn that strength is gentleness in all they sow. (D)

[Final Chorus – repeat twice]
🌱 We are not lost men anymore,
We’re planting seeds in ancient soil.
Tiny homes with open doors,
Hands made strong by honest toil.
From the forest’s edge we roam,
To farms where freedom makes its home.