A bus station, in the steam from the rain In this line of pale strangers, should I go or stay?
The whole field of vision, fades beneath me now And the houses spread for a million miles, in this gray town
And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand It would pass right through you, so now's your chance
Would you fall to pieces Would you fall to pieces Would you fall to pieces In the high countries?
We are just pilgrims of the great divorce I am witness to the light and I am captive to my own remorse
And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand It would pass right through you, so now's your chance
You drink the cup to the bottom, but it burns in your hands The cup was poured out on the Maker instead
Out on the green plains, I am but a ghost Bound up with all that I call "mine" still the light grows A bus station, in the steam from the rain In this line of pale strangers, should I go or stay?
The whole field of vision, fades beneath me now And the houses spread for a million miles, in this gray town
And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand It would pass right through you, so now's your chance
Would you fall to pieces Would you fall to pieces Would you fall to pieces In the high countries?
We are just pilgrims of the great divorce I am witness to the light and I am captive to my own remorse
And the weight of glory, if you held it in your hand It would pass right through you, so now's your chance
You drink the cup to the bottom, but it burns in your hands The cup was poured out on the Maker instead
Out on the green plains, I am but a ghost Bound up with all that I call "mine" still the light grows
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