✈️ 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 -------------------------------------------------------------- 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.