Hannah Martin & Phil Henry 2018
"A song about accents, and the creeping homogenisation of the modern world; about the shapes of lives formed by capitalism, removed from the land; about how home should be defined by the work you put into building it, not by chance of birth place. A song of belonging, and of welcome."
Chorus:
It’s not about your blood or the mud around your bones
But the toil of your hands and the seeds they have sown
The roots that you dig when you make your home
For feet were made to wander
I have a love for the land that I’ve known
For the trees and fields by the sea where I’ve grown
But I believe you should choose where you make your home
For feet were made to wander
My father’s father left the west when the war led him to roam
His children they forgot the tongue that had been their father’s home
The shapes of words were broken, by the city’s endless roar
And the lines of accent spoken told their stories no more
Clearance and enclosure took our fathers from the land
They forgot their tongues, forgot the sun on their backs
They did not know their brothers, so how could they lend a hand?
They did not know themselves, so how could they make a stand?
Plants that know how to survive throw seeds to the wind
They put down roots in the place they thrive – that’s where they belong
They make a wild garden, singing in the heart of town
Such beautiful, varied weeds, they’re hard to trample down