Headwind

[Verse 1: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, deep and heavy] Nine days of white and the sky won't lift Snow to the shoulder of the horses in the drift Old men say, let them walk with the storm Let them go where it pushes, keep your hands warm But the wind is a liar and the wind is a thief Walk with the wind and you walk into grief Herd turns its back and it drifts to the south Down to the gully with the ice in its mouth [Pre-Chorus: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, rising] I ride to the front of a thousand tails I put my face where the whole sky wails [Chorus: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, roaring over the war drums] Turn them into the wind Every horn to the north, every hoof dug in The storm wants them running, the storm wants them gone Turn them into the wind, and the herd lives on [Verse 2: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, harder] Ice on my lashes and ice in my beard Mare under me shaking, but she never once veered Seven hundred sheep and the goats and the yaks I'm riding in circles and I'm pushing them back Every winter in the songs, every herder before Rode to the front with his face in the roar Whip in my hand and my voice in the gale Head to the north, or the whole valley fails [Pre-Chorus: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, rising] I ride to the front of a thousand tails I put my face where the whole sky wails [Chorus: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, roaring over the war drums] Turn them into the wind Every horn to the north, every hoof dug in The storm wants them running, the storm wants them gone Turn them into the wind, and the herd lives on [Bridge: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, throat drone, a deep throat-sung drone under the drums] Ten hours riding with the white in my face Can't feel my hands, but I can feel my place Seven hundred heads, and I count every one Turn them into the wind till the wind is done [Verse 3: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, slow and proud, then roaring] Tenth day, the sun comes up like a coin on the ice Down in the gully, the drifters paid the price Mine stand steaming in a line on the hill Facing the north, and they're facing it still [Chorus: Mongolian throat-singing male lead, roaring over the war drums] Turn them into the wind Every horn to the north, every hoof dug in The storm wants them running, the storm wants them gone Turn them into the wind, and the herd lives on [End]