Immigrant’s Son is the last cut from our first album Medicine Lands. It deals directly with loss of my dear friend Enzo. I reminisce throughout the song; the here and now, the memories, the power of his faith, the sparkle in his eyes and how he now, slowly drifts into history.
This week’s prose ‘Innisfil’ is from my second book, The Quarterly. It looks back on a summer long ago, bike riding with my friend Patrick, cruising without a care - lost in the moment, the days long and free, a time of life long gone.
Joy Brooks - Vocal/Harmonies
Fredrick Brooks - Acoustic guitar/Harmonies
Jeff Brackett - Acoustic guitar
Chants - Brookfield (North) - Caroline Brooks, Katherine Brooks, Joy Gearing, Victor Fuke, Jay Olson, and Emerson Brooks
Produced by Paul LaChappelle, Fredrick Brooks
Recorded and mastered at Quest Recording
<Click here to listen to Immigrant’s Son>
IMMIGRANT’S SON
I need a room with a view
A place where I can watch over
Like a bird on a wire
We were brothers in truth
Now our road has parted
How time goes by.
Chorus
And I remember you
Your life on the run
The sparkle in your eyes
The weight of your love
If I could speak with you now
The words would fall so clear
But it’s a far - far cry…
An Immigrant’s Son
Who parts now in the name of the Father
To his heaven afar
In the dark stream
Like a vanishing leaf
Slowly he drifts on by.
Chorus - Chants
© Fredrick Brooks 1997 - For Enzo Detta-Coli
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<Click here to listen to Innisfil>
Innisfil
It was simplicity
Natural grace
The glare of spoke wheels over smooth black asphalt
A warm August wind in our air
Riding the 25th line.
We rode our old bikes
Under blue skies
You and me on our flying machines
Making sense of time
And the hours were long
As the days whispered
Eternally we rode
Naked with summer
Passing elegant swaying fields
Majestic stamped clouds
Your tattooed arm next to mine.
Simplicity
Natural grace
Drifting away to some far of place
Where the world’s pain seemed so far away.
© Fredrick Brooks 2013