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