Black River runs, beneath this ground
Black River flows forever, but he makes no sound
He runs trough me here now, and he runs trough your children too
He runs trough every man woman living thing
He runs trough the wires that feed your thinking too
Fading. growing. breating. flowing.
Receiving the hands of Light that como down from up high
Receiving the hands that make their mark on the back of the sky
Receiving the days that feed the night
Receiving the years that run back trough time
Black River's born in the mouths of old and dying men
Black River flows trough the belly of everyone
Fading. growing. fading. flowing.
Breathing. Leaving. Growing. receiving.