The People Were Here First

Paroles

Verse 1 Before the king had drawn his borders, Before the judge had carved his stone, There were hands that raised the rafters, There were fields that fed their own. There were voices round the firelight, There were promises made plain, And no man needed leave from heaven To stand upright in the rain. Now the towers reach the heavens, And the wires cross the land, And a stranger writes the rules for us With a stranger’s steady hand. But the river knows its valley, And the oak knows where it stands; You can draw a thousand borders, But you cannot own the land. Chorus 1 Oh, the people were here first, Before the crown, before the curse, Before the paper, before the seal, Before the iron learned to feel. And if freedom means a thing at all, It isn’t kneeling in a gilded hall. Let every village light its flame— No distant throne can own its name. Verse 2 They will tell you that the many Need a master to be wise, That the little fires must gather Till one great furnace fills the skies. But a fire that warms a hundred homes Can burn a kingdom down, And the hands that build a prison Can lay its stones back on the ground. I have seen a modest farmer Stand beneath a winter moon, Knowing more about his freedom Than a room of men in suits. For a law that has no roots, friend, Is a branch that cannot bend; And a people who forget themselves Will find a master in the end. Chorus 2 Oh, the people were here first, Before the crown, before the curse, Before the paper, before the seal, Before the iron learned to feel. And if freedom means a thing at all, It isn’t kneeling in a gilded hall. Let every village light its flame— No distant throne can own its name. Verse 3 Now I do not curse the neighbor Who sees a different road, For a freedom built on silence Is another kind of yoke. Let us argue in the daylight, Let us break our bread at night, For a thousand honest voices Make a stronger kind of light. Keep the promise close to home, then, Keep the power where you stand, Let the people hold the measure Of the laws that shape their land. And if ever those entrusted Forget whose hands have raised the wall, Let them hear the quiet footsteps Of the people they call small. Bridge — Quiet, Then Building No savior in the skyline, No angel in the state, No parchment makes a people free If they surrender what they make. The seed belongs to the sower, The hearth belongs to home, And a soul that knows its worth Was never born to be owned. Chorus 3 — Full Band and Backing Vocals Oh, the people were here first, Before the crown, before the curse, Before the paper, before the seal, Before the iron learned to feel. And if freedom means a thing at all, It isn’t kneeling in a gilded hall. Let every village light its flame— No distant throne can own its name. Final Chorus — Slow, Spiritual, Expansive Oh, the people were here first, And the last shall not be cursed, Let the mountains keep their names, Let the rivers choose their course. Let the hands that build be heard, Let the promise be the word, And let no power rise so high It forgets the human eye. For the people were here first, Before the crown, before the curse. And the freedom we defend Is the freedom we must tend. Outro — Voice and Electric Guitar Before the throne… Before the law… Before the hand that wrote it all… The people were here. Long, expressive electric guitar solo fading into a gentle reggae rhythm.