|
Where the moon sinks low in the southern sky |
|
On the open plains, where the river runs dry |
|
Well, his feet are bare, bare and dusty brown |
|
And a hot wind blows over sacred ground |
|
And a new day breaks |
|
On the mountainside |
|
Reaching out, reaching out |
|
Over the great divide |
|
It's a long, long road |
|
Stretching out ahead |
|
Step by step, step by step |
|
Over the great divide |
|
On a dead end street in a border town |
|
Where the stray dog sleeps in the midday sun |
|
Now the headline news is old and worn |
|
The pages stained with blood and rain, |
|
And cheap red wine |
|
And his skin is black |
|
The last of his tribe |
|
And he turns his back, turns his back |
|
On the great divide |
|
And a new day breaks |
|
On the mountainside |
|
Reaching out, reaching out |
|
Over the great divide |
|
Solid rock and burning sand |
|
Weathered by the hand of time |
|
Standing high above the storm |
|
Cutting deep against the grain |
|
And the years have come and gone |
|
Leaving all their scars behind |
|
Where the hills begin to climb |
|
There's a legend carved in stone |
|
And a new day breaks |
|
On the mountainside |
|
Reaching out, reaching out |
|
Over the great divide |
|
It's a long, long road |
|
Stretching out ahead |
|
Step by step, step by step |
|
Over the great divide |
|
And his skin is black |
|
The last of his tribe |
|
And he turns his back, turns his back |
|
On the great divide |
|
It's a long, long road |
|
That leads him home again |
|
Step by step, step by step |
