Under the shade of the banyan tree,
Grandmother sang old songs to me,
Of rivers wide and monsoon skies,
And dreams that faded with goodbye.
Barefoot roads and lantern light,
We chased the fireflies through the night,
But time, it stole the fields away,
Like autumn winds that cannot stay.
Oh, sing me a folk ballad slow,
Where broken hearts and wildflowers grow,
Where every tear the old earth keeps,
And love still walks where memory sleeps.
Oh, sing me a folk ballad slow,
Let the hurt bloom soft and low,
Where every tear the old earth keeps,
And love still walks where memory sleeps.
Father’s hands were rough as stone,
Yet he built a world from what he owned,
He mended nets and split the pine,
And drew his line by weathered lines.
Mother kept the kettle warm,
Held the house through every storm,
And when the dusk came down to rest,
She tucked the ache against her chest.
Now the fields are gone to dust,
Still I carry all I must,
In the cracks of every name,
In the fire that won’t fade.
Oh, sing me a folk ballad slow,
Where broken hearts and wildflowers grow,
Where every tear the old earth keeps,
And love still walks where memory sleeps.
Oh, sing me a folk ballad slow,
Let the hurt bloom soft and low,
Where every tear the old earth keeps,
And love still walks where memory sleeps.
If I return to that old road,
Will the banyan know my soul?
Will the shadows hold me near,
Like the voices I once held dear?
Take my grief and braid it tight,
Lay it down in morning light,
Let it rest where roots run deep,
Where the old things never sleep.
Oh, sing me a folk ballad slow,
Where broken hearts and wildflowers grow,
Where every tear the old earth keeps,
And love still walks where memory sleeps.
Oh, sing me a folk ballad slow,
Let the hurt bloom soft and low,
Where every tear the old earth keeps,
And love still walks where memory sleeps.
