The High Countries

A bus station

in the steam from the rain

In this line of pale strangers

should I go or stay?

The whole field of vision

fades beneath me now

And the houses spread for a million miles

in this gray town

And the weight of glory

if you held it in your hand

It would pass right through you

so now's your chance

Would you fall to pieces

Would you fall to pieces

Would you fall to pieces

In the high countries?

We are just pilgrims of the great divorce

I am witness to the light and I am captive to my own remorse

And the weight of glory

if you held it in your hand

It would pass right through you

so now's your chance

You drink the cup to the bottom

but it burns in your hands

The cup was poured out on the Maker instead

Out on the green plains

I am but a ghost

Bound up with all that I call "mine" still the light grows