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Refugees of Wonderland --Quicksand Soup
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From the 2019 Quicksand Soup CD Miss You Darling
Quicksand Soup is David Steward and Sand on guitar, Eric Jones on mandolin, Tamara Freida on fiddle and Alan Snow on bass
Refugees of Wonderland
by Sand Sheff
That city in the rear view mirror is where I left some hungry years;
concrete, steel and yellow haze obscure the place I couldn't stay.
Now I'm heading down a lonesome road that turned to dirt and then to stone.
Riding hard and headed west; I aint saying that this trails the best.
But I'm fine; sleeping out here in this field; a million miles from everything they say is real.
And I've been down the rabbit hole, seen the red queen raging from her throne.
Now I'm a refugee from wonderland looking for the narrow trail back home.
I met a rainbow girl one time in the country of the yellow pines;
twirling round a flower dress through a meadow in the wilderness.
And by the fire side she played guitar, while I looked for shooting stars.
Down the mountain far below, the streets of that doomed city glowed.
But she was true, like the songs that she did sing; in the dawn, I watched her tiptoe across a stream.
And I pray each day she finds her way safely through love's final burning stand.
Oh, My Lady of the Refugees, don't look back at Wonderland.
In the hollow of the hills we'll meet, the remnant of the bittersweet.
Bid farewell to a world gone wrong, with one last dance and pone last song.
In freedom there, the exiled few awake to taste the morning dew.
Flown away on raven's wings, they bow before the coming King.
See him rise, filling up the Eastern sky. Here comes the Son to separate the day and night.
And the palaces are ground to dust beneath the rolling of the final stone;
and the Refugees of Wonderland are headed on their way back home.
Quicksand Soup is David Steward and Sand on guitar, Eric Jones on mandolin, Tamara Freida on fiddle and Alan Snow on bass
Refugees of Wonderland
by Sand Sheff
That city in the rear view mirror is where I left some hungry years;
concrete, steel and yellow haze obscure the place I couldn't stay.
Now I'm heading down a lonesome road that turned to dirt and then to stone.
Riding hard and headed west; I aint saying that this trails the best.
But I'm fine; sleeping out here in this field; a million miles from everything they say is real.
And I've been down the rabbit hole, seen the red queen raging from her throne.
Now I'm a refugee from wonderland looking for the narrow trail back home.
I met a rainbow girl one time in the country of the yellow pines;
twirling round a flower dress through a meadow in the wilderness.
And by the fire side she played guitar, while I looked for shooting stars.
Down the mountain far below, the streets of that doomed city glowed.
But she was true, like the songs that she did sing; in the dawn, I watched her tiptoe across a stream.
And I pray each day she finds her way safely through love's final burning stand.
Oh, My Lady of the Refugees, don't look back at Wonderland.
In the hollow of the hills we'll meet, the remnant of the bittersweet.
Bid farewell to a world gone wrong, with one last dance and pone last song.
In freedom there, the exiled few awake to taste the morning dew.
Flown away on raven's wings, they bow before the coming King.
See him rise, filling up the Eastern sky. Here comes the Son to separate the day and night.
And the palaces are ground to dust beneath the rolling of the final stone;
and the Refugees of Wonderland are headed on their way back home.
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