| Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face
|
| Stars to fill my dreams
|
| I am a traveler of both time and space
|
| To be where I have been
|
| To sit with elders of the gentle race
|
| This world has seldom seen
|
| They talk of days for which they sit and wait
|
| And all will be revealed, yeah
|
| Talk and songs from tongues of lilting grace
|
| Whose sounds caress my ear
|
| But not a word I heard could I relate
|
| The story was quite clear
|
| Step on
|
| No denying, no denying, oh
|
| All I see, it turns to brown
|
| As the sun burns on the ground
|
| And my eyes they fill with sand
|
| As I scan this wasted land
|
| Try to find
|
| Try to find where I’ve been
|
| All I see, it turns to brown
|
| As the sun burns on the ground
|
| And my eyes they fill with sand
|
| As I scan this wasted land
|
| Try to find
|
| Try to find just where I’ve been
|
| And my eyes they filled with sand
|
| Oh, pilot of the storm which leaves no trace
|
| Like thoughts inside a dream
|
| Heed the path that led me to that place
|
| A yellow desert stream
|
| My Shangrila beneath the summer moon
|
| I will return again
|
| Sure as the dust that floats so high and true
|
| When moving through Kashmir
|
| Oh, father of the four winds, fill my sails
|
| Across the sea of years
|
| With no provision but an open face
|
| Along the straits of fear
|
| Oh, woah yea, oh, woah yeah
|
| It turns to brown
|
| As the sun burns on the ground
|
| And my eyes they fill with sand
|
| As I scan this wasted land
|
| Try to find
|
| Try to find where I’ve been, yeah
|
| All I see it turns to brown
|
| As the sun burns on the ground
|
| And my eyes they fill with sand
|
| As I scan this wasted land
|
| Try to find
|
| Try to find where I’ve been, yeah |