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