The Green Hills of Dawn

A song written by me, Paul Hall, in Paris in 1980.



It's about the nine months I spent in the highlands of Northern Scotland, in a mountainous region called Duck-garret, just over a ridge from Lock Ness, where the neon lights of Inverness could be seen gleaming in the distance at night under the dancing Aurora Borealis.  But in reality it wasn't just Inverness, but all the cities I was to visit in my travels the lament is about.  Cities like London, Paris, Jakarta, Sydney, Auckland, New York, L.A., Houston, Boston, Chicago, Caracas, Suva, and many others besides where I sang the song but all were too busy to listen.



Lyrics:







The green hills of dawn



have the rainbows passing on.



Passing in the golden haze



as the sheep would graze



beyond.



I stood there



on a glowing hill



wondering when the



world would end.



When I knew



that I had



my song,



I had to leave



my friend







and go unto



the Low Lands



where the people team



and the neon lights



in the distance gleam.



It's a concrete prison



where the people go



to escape



the rain and snow.



And I went there



to sing to them



my song



from the glowing hills



by the rainbows' bend.



Sing them my song



written by my friend



the wind.







The wind got so strong



on those glowing hills



it would speak



through the speckled frays



of the heather



and kiss



the mountainsides



where the flocks



of sheep would graze.



I listened to the song,



but then,



one fine day,



in the distance



he showed me



that city down there



and said



"Son, you've got to



go away.



And go unto



the low lands



where the people team



and the neon lights



in the distance gleam.



It's a concrete prison



where the people go



to escape



the rain and snow."



So I went there



to sing to them



my song



from the glowing hills



where the rainbows bend.



Sing them my song



written by my friend



the wind.







For the sunlight



would mix



with the rain drops



and make pretty



rainbow curls,



where the aurora borealis flows



in glowing nightly swirls.



And the colored stars



would twinkle



in infinity beyond



the heather



of the highlands



where the hills



would glow at dawn.



Above the low lands



where the people team



and the neon lights



in the distance gleam.



It's a concrete prison



where the people go



to escape



the rain and snow.



And I went there



to sing to them



my song



from the glowing hills



by the rainbow's bend.



But no one would listen.



I think I'll go and sing



to the wind.



.............................................



(c) by Paul Hall, 1987