We rode over the whizzing tarmac.
Rose over the sea of mountains.
Climbed over the meadows of pine.
We saw the darkness of the night fade into the colours of the dawn.
And the orange hue of the sun, beam into the might of the Kanchenjunga
The little shrubs fluttered in the morning breeze.
The valleys became flooded with light
And the slopes spiraled like a maze
Lakes so blue.
The air so verdant.
The part of a world which we think, isn't our own.
Yet it is there and it is our very own.
Fluttering breeze.
And waving flags.
And that slice of the lake.
Rose over the sea of mountains.
 |
| Row of hills while climbing to Zuluk |
Climbed over the meadows of pine.
 |
| Pine meadowa |
We saw the darkness of the night fade into the colours of the dawn.
 |
| Rising sun from Lungthung |
And the orange hue of the sun, beam into the might of the Kanchenjunga
 |
| Sun rise on Kanchenjunga |
The little shrubs fluttered in the morning breeze.
The valleys became flooded with light
And the slopes spiraled like a maze
Lakes so blue.
The air so verdant.
The part of a world which we think, isn't our own.
Yet it is there and it is our very own.
 |
| Lake on the old Silk route |
And waving flags.
And that slice of the lake.
 |
| Tsomgo |
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