| Great halls wide with the ages
|
| And filled with the treasures of time
|
| High walls more than the strongest of hearts
|
| Should believe they could climb
|
| We all stand here broken and torn
|
| We long to get back to what’s real
|
| Back to the open fields
|
| Back to the rolling hills
|
| Back to the running burn
|
| I don’t know anything greater than you
|
| High talk carefully chosen
|
| To distance and hold well away
|
| Thin words more than the gentlest of hearts
|
| Can honestly say
|
| We all stand here broken and torn
|
| We long to get back to what’s real
|
| Back to the open fields
|
| Back to the rolling hills
|
| Back to the running burn
|
| I don’t know anything greater than you
|
| It turns inside itself
|
| Never ever to be understood
|
| Great days held for the few
|
| Who don’t care and don’t think they should
|
| We all stand here broken and worn
|
| We long to get back to what’s real
|
| Back to the open fields
|
| Back to the rolling hills
|
| Back to the running burn
|
| I don’t know anything greater than you |