| Where the moon sinks low in the southern sky
|
| On the open plains, where the river runs dry
|
| Well, his feet are bare, bare and dusty brown
|
| And a hot wind blows over sacred ground
|
| And a new day breaks
|
| On the mountainside
|
| Reaching out, reaching out
|
| Over the great divide
|
| It’s a long, long road
|
| Stretching out ahead
|
| Step by step, step by step
|
| Over the great divide
|
| On a dead end street in a border town
|
| Where the stray dog sleeps in the midday sun
|
| Now the headline news is old and worn
|
| The pages stained with blood and rain
|
| And cheap red wine
|
| And his skin is black
|
| The last of his tribe
|
| And he turns his back, turns his back
|
| On the great divide
|
| And a new day breaks
|
| On the mountainside
|
| Reaching out, reaching out
|
| Over the great divide
|
| Solid rock and burning sand
|
| Weathered by the hand of time
|
| Standing high above the storm
|
| Cutting deep against the grain
|
| And the years have come and gone
|
| Leaving all their scars behind
|
| Where the hills begin to climb
|
| There’s a legend carved in stone
|
| And a new day breaks
|
| On the mountainside
|
| Reaching out, reaching out
|
| Over the great divide
|
| It’s a long, long road
|
| Stretching out ahead
|
| Step by step, step by step
|
| Over the great divide
|
| And his skin is black
|
| The last of his tribe
|
| And he turns his back, turns his back
|
| On the great divide
|
| It’s a long, long road
|
| That leads him home again
|
| Step by step, step by step |