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.