paroles de chanson Thinking Like A Mountain - Portrait Version - Yann Tiersen , John Grant
A
deep
chesty
bawl
echoes
from
rimrock
to
rimrock
Rolls
down
the
mountain,
and
fades
into
the
far
blackness
of
the
night
It
is
an
outburst
of
wild
defiant
sorrow
And
of
contempt
for
all
the
adversities
of
the
world
Every
living
thing
(and
perhaps
many
a
dead
one
as
well)
Pays
heed
to
that
call
To
the
deer
it
is
a
reminder
of
the
way
of
all
flesh
To
the
pine
a
forecast
of
midnight
scuffles
and
of
blood
upon
the
snow
To
the
coyote
a
promise
of
gleanings
to
come
To
the
cowman
a
threat
of
red
ink
at
the
bank
To
the
hunter
a
challenge
of
fang
against
bullet
Yet,
behind
these
obvious
and
immediate
hopes
and
fears
There
lies
a
deeper
meaning
known
only
to
the
mountain
itself
Only
the
mountain
has
lived
long
enough
to
listen
objectively
to
the
howl
of
a
wolf
Those
unable
to
deciper
the
hidden
meaning
know
nevertheless
that
it
is
there
For
it
is
felt
in
all
wolf
country,
and
distinguishes
that
country
from
all
other
land
It
tingles
in
the
spine
of
all
who
hear
wolves
by
night
Or
who
scan
their
tracks
by
day
Even
without
sight
or
sound
of
wolf,
it
is
implicit
in
a
hundred
small
events
The
midnight
whinny
of
a
pack
horse,
the
rattle
of
rolling
rocks
The
bound
of
a
fleeing
deer,
the
way
shadows
lie
under
the
spruces
Only
the
ineducable
tyro
can
fail
to
sense
the
presence
or
absence
of
wolves
Or
the
fact
that
mountains
have
a
secret
opinion
about
them
My
own
convinction
on
this
score
dates
from
the
day
I
saw
a
wolf
die
We
were
eating
lunch
on
a
high
rimrock,
at
the
foot
of
which
A
turbulent
river
elbowed
its
way
We
saw
what
we
thought
was
a
doe
fording
the
torrent,
her
breast
awash
in
white
water
When
she
climbed
the
bank
toward
us
and
shook
out
her
tail
we
realised
our
error
It
was
a
wolf
A
half-dozen
others,
evidently
grown
pups,
sprang
from
the
willows
And
all
joined
in
a
welcoming
melee
of
wagging
tails
and
playful
maulings
What
was
literally
a
pile
of
wolves
writhed
and
tumbled
in
the
centre
of
an
open
flat
At
the
foot
of
our
rimrock
In
those
days
we
had
never
heard
of
passing
up
a
chance
to
kill
a
wolf
In
a
second
we
were
pumping
lead
into
the
pack
But
with
more
excitement
than
accuracy
How
to
aim
a
steep
downhill
shot
is
always
confusing
When
our
rifles
were
empty,
the
old
wolf
was
down
And
a
pup
was
dragging
a
leg
into
impassable
slide-rocks
We
reached
the
old
wolf
in
time
to
watch
a
fierce
green
fire
dying
in
her
eyes
I
realised
then,
and
have
known
ever
since
That
there
was
something
new
to
me
in
those
eyes
Something
known
only
to
her
and
to
the
mountain
I
was
young
then,
and
full
of
trigger-itch
I
thought
that
because
fewer
wolves
meant
more
deer
That
no
wolves
would
mean
hunters′
paradise
But
after
seeing
the
green
fire
die,
I
sensed
that
neither
the
wolf
Nor
the
mountain
agreed
with
such
a
view
Since
then
I
have
lived
to
see
state
after
state
extirpate
its
wolves
I
have
watched
the
face
of
many
a
newly
wolfless
mountain
And
seen
the
south-facing
slopes
wrinkle
with
a
maze
of
new
deer
trails
I
have
seen
every
edible
bush
and
seedling
browsed
First
to
anaemic
desuetude
and
then
to
death
I
have
seen
every
edible
tree
defoliated
to
the
height
of
a
saddlehorn
Such
a
mountain
looks
as
if
someone
had
given
God
a
new
pruning
shears
And
forbidden
Him
all
other
exercise
In
the
end
the
starved
bones
of
the
hoped
for
deer
herd
Dead
of
its
own
too
much,
bleach
with
the
bones
of
the
dead
sage
Or
molder
under
the
high-lined
junipers
I
now
suspect
that
just
as
a
deer
herd
lives
in
mortal
fear
of
its
wolves
So
does
a
mountain
live
in
mortal
fear
of
its
deer
And
perhaps
with
better
cause
For
while
a
buck
pulled
down
by
wolves
can
be
replaced
in
two
or
three
years
A
range
pulled
down
by
too
many
deer
may
fail
of
replacement
in
as
many
decades
So
also
with
cows
The
cowman
who
cleans
his
range
of
wolves
does
not
realise
that
he
is
taking
over
the
wolf's
job
Of
trimming
the
herd
to
fit
the
range
He
has
not
learned
to
think
like
a
mountain
Hence
we
have
dustbbowls,
and
rivers
washing
the
future
into
the
sea
We
all
strive
for
safety,
prosperity,
comfort,
long
life,
and
dullness
The
deer
strives
with
his
supple
legs,
the
cowman
with
trap
and
poison
The
statesman
with
pen,
the
most
of
us
with
machines,
votes,
and
dollars
But
it
all
comes
to
the
same
thing:
peace
in
our
time
A
measure
of
success
in
this
is
all
well
enough,
and
perhaps
is
a
requisite
to
objective
thinking
But
too
much
safety
seems
to
yield
only
danger
in
the
long
run
Perhaps
this
is
behind
Thoreau′s
dictum
In
wildness
is
the
salvation
of
the
world
Perhaps
this
is
the
hidden
meaning
in
the
howl
of
the
wolf
Long
known
among
mountains,
but
seldom
perceived
among
men
1 Introductory Movement (Portrait Version)
2 The Long Road - Portrait Version
3 Monochrome (Portrait Version)
4 Chapter 19 - Portrait Version
5 Rue des Cascades - Portrait Version
6 The Old Man Still Wants It - Portrait Version
7 Gwennilied - Portrait Version
8 Prad - Portrait Version
9 Diouz An Noz - Portrait Version
10 Porz Goret - Portrait Version
11 La Dispute - Portrait Version
12 Pell - Portrait Version
13 Erc’h - Portrait Version
14 The Wire - Portrait Version
15 The Waltz Of The Monsters - Portrait Version
16 Closer - Portrait Version
17 Naval - Portrait Version
18 The Jetty - Portrait Version
19 Koad - Portrait Version
20 Prayer No. 2 - Portrait Version
21 Grønjørd - Portrait Version
22 Kala - Portrait Version
23 Comptine d’Un Autre Été (L’Après-Midi) - Portrait Version
24 Tempelhof, Pt. 2 - Portrait Version
25 Thinking Like A Mountain - Portrait Version
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