Song Of An Immigrant Songtext

I can see the face of my mother

Of the friends and lovers I have known

And I yearn for these simple pleasures

These things called home



And your golden gate cannot soother me

And your skies of blue make me sigh

For the rains that fall straight from heaven

For the childhood that must have passed me by


So I lay my head on your shoulder

May I rest my hand in your own

I am oh so tired, I am older

And yearn for all the things I've known

These things called home.