Cyberseeker
Member
My brother plays bluegrass guitar and he asked me to help him write lyrics for a new gospel song. This is what we came up with. Hope you like it.
Walkin Streets of Gold
Someone said it is a road, winding to its destiny
We carry each our heavy load, hoping one day to be free
The stones are sharp and it is told, the valley casts the longest shadow
But when my Lord shall come we will walk the streets of shining gold.
When my Lord shall come, I will meet him at the river
Where the healing flows from the mountain to the land
All the labours of my hands are but nothing in the countin'
I'll give them up to him; they were all but shifting sand.
I have sometimes been a winner; I have sometimes been a fool
'Cannot say I weren’t a sinner, playing roulette with my soul
I was taken, chained and stoled, then you came, a kin redeemer
Now when my Lord shall come we will walk the streets of shining gold.
When my Lord shall come, I will meet him at the river
Where the healing flows from the mountain to the land
All the labours of my hands are but nothing in the countin'
I'll give them up to him; they were all but shifting sand.
Looking back through the years, I have walked this way too long
Snared by doubts and by fears, sometimes I could hardly hold on
My dreams turned black with the cold, ‘want to talk like we did again
When my Lord shall come we will walk the streets of shining gold.
When my Lord shall come, I will meet him at the river
Where the healing flows from the mountain to the land
All the labours of my hands are but nothing in the countin'
I'll give them up to him; they were all but shifting sand.
Walkin Streets of Gold
Someone said it is a road, winding to its destiny
We carry each our heavy load, hoping one day to be free
The stones are sharp and it is told, the valley casts the longest shadow
But when my Lord shall come we will walk the streets of shining gold.
When my Lord shall come, I will meet him at the river
Where the healing flows from the mountain to the land
All the labours of my hands are but nothing in the countin'
I'll give them up to him; they were all but shifting sand.
I have sometimes been a winner; I have sometimes been a fool
'Cannot say I weren’t a sinner, playing roulette with my soul
I was taken, chained and stoled, then you came, a kin redeemer
Now when my Lord shall come we will walk the streets of shining gold.
When my Lord shall come, I will meet him at the river
Where the healing flows from the mountain to the land
All the labours of my hands are but nothing in the countin'
I'll give them up to him; they were all but shifting sand.
Looking back through the years, I have walked this way too long
Snared by doubts and by fears, sometimes I could hardly hold on
My dreams turned black with the cold, ‘want to talk like we did again
When my Lord shall come we will walk the streets of shining gold.
When my Lord shall come, I will meet him at the river
Where the healing flows from the mountain to the land
All the labours of my hands are but nothing in the countin'
I'll give them up to him; they were all but shifting sand.