Any pebble ever dropped on its flat surface
Has long since been washed away by winter rains.
No pebble drops for him
By sons, long gone
No pebble drops for him
Who strives and strains
Against the earth above
To call them back,
To hold them
To that little piece of earth
Where his heart lay.
Engraved in stone, he wrote his will
The will to carry on
The will to live
To his sons, he left this command
"Thou shalt not leave the land."
O How much power has a dead man's voice
O How much strength has a dead man's will?
Times were hard and
An American relative sent money
An American relative said, "Come!".
"We'll be back," they promised the stone
As they dropped a last pebble in tearful good-bye.
"We'll be back," they promised themselves
"When times are better for the land,
When times are better for us."
Life moved on
But the stone remained
Engraved with this command
"Thou shalt not leave the land"!
They didn't always remember
Buy they didn't ever forget.
Son, becoming father, remembered
Mother becoming grandmother, couldn't forget
Father told the story to his son
As a curiosity?
As a broken covenant?
As a prayer?
Grandmother told the story to her grandson
As an old wives' tale?
As a piece of flesh torn from a rib?
As a hope?
And so it came to pass that
Son's son heard
Heard the stone across the oceans
Pouring out a heart.
He heard, "This, my son, is my command
"Thou shalt not leave the land"
He heard an echo vault the sky
He heard an echo encircle the earth
He heard a still small voice,
Just a whisper
Hard to hear
That reached unto his inner ear
And low as it was, the words were clear
"This, my grandson, is my command
Return, oh return to the land!"
O, how much power has a dead man's voice!
O, how much strength has a dead man's will!
The pebble was heard again on the slab
The heart under the stone stopped beating
The heart under the stone, stood still