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Pilgrimaje

de Pedro Aznar

The course of time, upon unraveling its thread
Has spun the treasure of experience of things living
Yet, in the concert that salutes the song of being
There is an instrument that loves itself instead

The will of man, the noise of history prevailed
Over the noble, humble silence that lies standing
Watching the stars, with leaves and eyes and understanding
The sweetest melody that words could never veil

The sword that swings the dance of death we keep on forging
Turning our backs, walking away from that embrace
We conquered nature in our dreams, but are still longing

In search of meaning in the midst of fall from grace
The sense of oneness emanating from belonging
Unending love, the face of truth that we've erased

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