A river with floating dead wood
Winds through a fallow land
In every bend a root grasps at the rotten branches
Trapped until the rain makes the water rise
But heat rises over the roads
Rivers run dry and turn into small brooks
We're on the run
We feel the heat of the ground
Just a hazy shade under a relentless sun
Time leaves scars
Like water slowly grinding at the stones
Time is brutal
Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones
It has no reason at all to spare us
We should still be grateful, be grateful
As far as the bird flies
Wide thirsty land to the open sea
An occasional whisper in the moonlight
As the brook ripples silver and washes away
All our memories
We're on the run
We feel the heat of the ground
Just a hazy shade under a relentless sun
Time leaves scars
Like water slowly grinding at the stones
Time is brutal
Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones
It has no reason at all to spare us
But we should still be grateful, be grateful
It allows us to follow them
A small part of the way
Time leaves scars
Like water slowly grinding at the stones
Time is brutal
Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones
Time leaves scars
Like water slowly grinding at the stones
Time is brutal
Like vultures bite the flesh from dead bones
Flesh from dead bones