خیلی زیاد باهاش خاطره ☄️✨💜😂👏☝️🤩🌌✨دارم...۲۰سال پیش تقریباً..💜😎❤️🖤

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"Sabri Brothers became the first exponents of Qawwali to the West in 1975, when it performed at New York's Carnegie Hall" A great honor indeed!

Bhar Do Jholi Meri Ya Mohammad - Maqbool Sabri (Sabri Brothers)

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Bhar Do Jholi Meri Ya Mohammad - Maqbool Sabri (Sabri Brothers) (NED Music Society)

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Listen the original track of world famous qawali Tajdar-e-Haram in the voice of qawali's legends Sabri Brothers (late Ghulam Farid Sabri & late  Maqbool Ahmed Sabri).

The Sabri Brothers - Tajdar-e-Haram Qawali Original Track

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Holy Ground is a pop-rock song about modern football fandom — the devotion, the money, and the madness around the game.
It paints stadiums as modern temples, where idols are worshipped, fortunes are spent, and emotions swing between joy and violence.
The song reflects the love–hate relationship with football: a passion that feels irrational, expensive, and impossible to escape.
The track also appears on the upcoming album Jupiter, releasing on December 24th.

Lyrics:

"Holy Ground"

I wake up early just to paint my face,
Stand in line like it’s some holy place.
We chant our colors like a battle cry,
But no one knows exactly why.
We lose our minds over a leather ball,
And call the other side “the enemy” of all.
It’s only sport—but somehow not,
’Cause pride is something that we never drop.

And every weekend we repeat this sin,
Throw our money, throw our sanity in.
They say it’s passion—maybe it’s true,
But sometimes passion goes too far, we knew.

Welcome to the holy ground,
Where we scream until the walls fall down.
Arenas built like temples tall,
Idols rising while the rest of us crawl.
We pay a fortune just to see the show,
Ticket prices climbing more than we know.
Players earning sums we can’t believe—
Yeah, worship costs more than we’d ever conceive.

Shouting matches turn to fists and fear,
All that rage for teams who never hear.
People bleeding over pointless pride,
While the millionaires just play the game inside.
And when our heroes lose, we burn with shame,
As if defeat would tarnish our own name.
But when they win, we’re kings again—
Addicted to the highs that never end.

We pay our souls for a moment’s cheer,
A week’s salary for a seat so near.
They say it’s culture—maybe it is,
But culture’s getting harder to afford, like this.

Welcome to the holy ground,
Where we scream until the walls fall down.
Arenas built like temples tall,
Idols rising while the rest of us crawl.
We pay a fortune just to see the show,
Ticket prices climbing more than we know.
Players earning sums we can’t believe—
Yeah, worship costs more than we’d ever conceive.

Can’t help loving it—
We hate it too.
It’s madness wrapped in colors blue.
We’re faithful followers of a noisy creed,
A modern myth we’re all dying to need.
And when the lights go out, we swear we’ll quit—
But next week we’re right back in it.

’Cause this is our holy ground,
Where the faith is loud and the rules are drowned.
Arenas glowing like sacred fire,
Feeding every tribal desire.
We pay in money, pride, and blood—
Still we’re standing in the roaring flood.
Sports religion—yeah, we all believe,
In dreams so big we barely can conceive.


Holy Ground

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