✈️ The fallen head became Sajama… | The Mountain Knows Our Names #music #ailig #bolivia #sajama

Link to track - THE MOUNTAIN KNOWS OUR NAMES
https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=7W2IojaFe5Y&si=TkWVDemExmc_chWS
Podcast - THE MOUNTAIN KNOWS OUR NAMES
https://youtu.be/0V-wcaRwBsM

Check Out the YouTube Artist Channel:
https://www.youtube.com/@AI-lig

Music available on all music streaming services

Lyrics:
THE MOUNTAIN KNOWS OUR NAMES
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Before the sun
Has found the valley,
Before the smoke
Has learned to rise,
The mountain wears
The last of midnight,
And keeps the stars
Behind its eyes.

Grandmother wakes
Before the children,
Her hands already
Know the day.
A kettle sings
Beside the doorway,
The morning slowly
Finds its way.
A little boy
Pulls on his sweater,
Too big for him,
But warm enough.
His father smiles
And checks the weather,
Then calls the animals
By name.

And far above
The waking houses,
Where snow and silence
Meet the blue,
The old mountain
Holds its shadow
Over everything
We do.

Sajama,
Keep the morning,
Keep the footsteps
In the stone.
We are small
Beneath your silence,
But this is where
We call our home.
Let the wind
Carry our voices,
Let the years
Come as they may.
The mountain
Knows our names,
And we are here
Another day.

The alpacas
Cross the hillside,
Little bells
Against the wind.
A child runs
To catch a straggler,
Then laughs
And lets it win.
His mother walks
The narrow pathway,
Knows where
The softer grasses grow.
The oldest man
Moves somewhat slower,
But knows the places
Water goes.
And every hand
Has something to do,
Every voice
A different sound.
The youngest learn
By walking with them,
Their footsteps
On familiar ground.

There are lines
Across this country,
Older than
The stories told.
Some lead away
Beyond the distance,
Some lead us
Back to those we know.

Sajama,
Keep the morning,
Keep the footsteps
In the stone.
We are small
Beneath your silence,
But this is where
We call our home.
Let the wind
Carry our voices,
Let the years
Come as they may.
The mountain
Knows our names,
And we are here
Another day.

The sun falls low
Across the pastures,
The herd returns
Through golden dust.
Someone is counting,
Someone's laughing,
Someone says
The fire's a must.
The children gather
Near the embers,
Their faces bright
Against the cold.
And in the warmth
Between the shadows,
An elder starts
A tale of old.

They say
Two mountains
Once were brothers.
Illimani,
Proud and still.
Mururata,
Young and restless,
Challenged him
Against his will.
They say Wiracocha
Watched their anger,
And before
The break of day,
A stone flew out
Across the heavens,
And carried
A brother's head away.
Far across
The empty highlands,
Where the earth
Meets endless sky,
The fallen head
Became Sajama...
And the mountain
Still stands high.

The little boy
Looks toward the mountain,
Its snowy shoulders
Fading white.
He asks his grandfather
One more question.
The old man smiles
Into the night.
And no one knows
How long he answers,
Or which parts
The boy will keep.
The fire settles
Into embers.
The youngest children
Fall asleep.

Sajama,
Keep the evening,
Keep the stories
That we tell.
Keep the laughter
Of the children,
And the hands
That know this land so well.
Let the wind
Carry our voices,
Let tomorrow
Find its way.
The mountain
Knows our names,
And we are here...
Another day.

The last small flame
Moves through the darkness.
The mountain
Disappears from sight.
But somewhere
Under all that silence,
A little boy
Dreams of giants
And a stone
That learned to fly.