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