Текст: Suzanne Vega. Days Of Open Hand. Pilgrimage.

This line is burning, turning to ash as it hits the air
Every step is a day in the week
It's a Sunday or Monday
A march over months of the year

This life is burning, turning to ash as it hits the air
Every death is an end in the race
It's a stopping and starting
A march over millions of years

Travel, arrival
Years of an inch and a step toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

This land is burning, turning to ash as it hits the air
Every line is a place on a map
It's a city or valley
A mark on these miles of fields

Travel, arrival
Years of an inch and a step toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

Travel, arrival
Years of an inch and a step toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

Take this mute mouth
Broken tongue
Now this dark life
Is shot through with light

Take this mute mouth
Broken tongue
Now this dark life
Is shot through with light

Take this mute mouth
Broken tongue
Now this dark life
Is shot through with light

Take this mute mouth
Broken tongue
Now this dark life
Is shot through with light

Travel, arrival
Years of an inch and a step toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

Travel, arrival
Years of an inch and a step toward a source
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time

This line is burning, turning to ash as it hits the air
Every step is a day in the week
It's a Wednesday or Thursday
A march over months of the year

I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time
I'm coming to you
I'll be there in time