The High Countries

A bus station, in the steam from the rain In a 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 here in 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 Would you fall to pieces? Would you fall to pieces? Would you fall to pieces In the high countries? Oh, you drank 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, and still the light grows Would you fall to pieces? Would you fall to pieces? Would you fall to pieces In the high countries? Would you fall to pieces? Would you fall to pieces? Would you fall to pieces In the high countries? In the high countries In the high countries