Wakhan Seam

(Verse 1)
Where giants lean their shoulders in the sky,
The Pamir knot is tied in frozen stone,
And clouds like tattered banners drift on by.

(Verse 2)
A finger stretched through valleys, carved alone,
Between the empires’ ink and paper greed,
Where silence sits upon a granite throne.

(Instrumental fill)
(Verse 3)
Not for the kings was this thin path decreed,
But for the pilgrim’s foot and leopard’s paw,
A narrow bridge for every ancient need.

(Verse 4)
Ten thousand names are lost to winter’s jaw,
Who drove their caravans through ice and grit,
Obeying only thirst and mountain law.

(Instrumental fill)
(Verse 5)
Yet some left marks: the monk whose lamp was lit
By sutras carried through the Wakhjir’s height,
While Polo’s pen made every wonder fit.
 
(Verrse 6)
Then Bento came—a shadow in the light—
Disguised in merchant’s robes of silk and wool,
To chase a myth through Central Asian night.

(Verse 7)
He sought Cathay, through passes cold and cruel,
Where every Khan demanded heavy toll,
And distance was a harsh and lonely school.

(Verse 8)
He proved the maps were one, and reached the goal,
But gave his breath unto the mountain air,
A traveller’s ghost where icy rivers roll.

(Breakdown)
(Verse 9)
Then came the men who traded hope for fear,
With rulers drawing lines on distant maps,
To keep the rival shadows from the rear.

(Verse 10)
They built a buffer in the mountain gaps,
A neutral breath between the Lion and Bear,
Lest world-wide thunder follow their collapse.
 
(Breakdown)
(Verse 11)
Yet borders are but ghosts in mountain air;
The Snow Leopard still haunts the scree and slate,
A silver spirit in a limestone lair.

(Verse 12)
The Marco Polo sheep, with heavy weight,
Ignore the phantom lines that men have traced,
And graze upon the grass of ancient fate.

(Verse 13)
The Primula now blooms in purple haste,
And Pallas’ cats, with thick and frosted fur,
Find refuge in this high and hallowed waste.

(Verse 14)
The path remains, a quiet, winding spur,
Where science seeks the ghost of wilder things,
And only winds of history move and stir.

2073/7500

(Verse 1) Where giants lean their shoulders in the sky, The Pamir knot is tied in frozen stone, And clouds like tattered banners drift on by. (Verse 2) A finger stretched through valleys, carved alone, Between the empires’ ink and paper greed, Where silence sits upon a granite throne. (Instrumental fill) (Verse 3) Not for the kings was this thin path decreed, But for the pilgrim’s foot and leopard’s paw, A narrow bridge for every ancient need. (Verse 4) Ten thousand names are lost to winter’s jaw, Who drove their caravans through ice and grit, Obeying only thirst and mountain law. (Instrumental fill) (Verse 5) Yet some left marks: the monk whose lamp was lit By sutras carried through the Wakhjir’s height, While Polo’s pen made every wonder fit. (Verrse 6) Then Bento came—a shadow in the light— Disguised in merchant’s robes of silk and wool, To chase a myth through Central Asian night. (Verse 7) He sought Cathay, through passes cold and cruel, Where every Khan demanded heavy toll, And distance was a harsh and lonely school. (Verse 8) He proved the maps were one, and reached the goal, But gave his breath unto the mountain air, A traveller’s ghost where icy rivers roll. (Breakdown) (Verse 9) Then came the men who traded hope for fear, With rulers drawing lines on distant maps, To keep the rival shadows from the rear. (Verse 10) They built a buffer in the mountain gaps, A neutral breath between the Lion and Bear, Lest world-wide thunder follow their collapse. (Breakdown) (Verse 11) Yet borders are but ghosts in mountain air; The Snow Leopard still haunts the scree and slate, A silver spirit in a limestone lair. (Verse 12) The Marco Polo sheep, with heavy weight, Ignore the phantom lines that men have traced, And graze upon the grass of ancient fate. (Verse 13) The Primula now blooms in purple haste, And Pallas’ cats, with thick and frosted fur, Find refuge in this high and hallowed waste. (Verse 14) The path remains, a quiet, winding spur, Where science seeks the ghost of wilder things, And only winds of history move and stir.

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