Paths Visible in Rain
Die Geschichte
Morgenregen legt sich silbern auf die Dächer der Grünfalte. Bienen warten unter den Traufen, die Mühle dreht sich, Moos bedeckt die Trittsteine. Hier kennt kein Wegweiser den Obstgarten, und keine gerade Straße besitzt den Weg. Schilfknoten am Fluss verraten, wer willkommen ist: Gäste mit Geschichten, neugeborene Kinder und alle, die durch die Nacht fliehen. Für sie steht eine Schale mit Brot und Honigbier neben der Tür. Dann antwortet weit hinter den Weiden etwas auf die Musik des Tals: vier kalte Töne in gemessenem Takt. Die Saatkrähen verstummen, und Hufspuren zeigen in den Regen. Die Hearthkin decken ihre Feuer ab und verriegeln keine Tür, im Vertrauen darauf, dass lebendige Wege sich nicht zähmen lassen. So beginnt das Album mit allem, was bald auf die Probe gestellt wird.
Die Schilfknoten und kleinen Glocken, die hier auftauchen, werden in „Quiet Paths“ zur geheimen Sprache des Widerstands.
Liedtext
Der Liedtext bleibt im gesungenen Englisch.Ooh-ah, ooh-ah Rain upon the leaves Ooh-ah, ooh-ah Follow where it leads
Morning lays her silver hand On every roof and rail, Bees wait beneath the eaves, The mill turns in the vale. Moss has clothed the stepping-stones, The brook has changed its name, But every foot that travels kind Will find the hearth again.
No signpost knows the orchard, No straight road owns the way; A thousand roots beneath our feet Are rising now to say:
The paths are visible in rain, No crown can hold, no map can name. Heart to hearth and door to door, We are the road worth fighting for. Let iron come and stake its claim - We grow wild beneath the rain.
Reed knots mark the river turn, Three loops beneath the thorn; One for guests with tales to trade, And one for children born. One is tied for those who flee With night upon their trail; We leave a bowl beside the door, Warm bread and honey ale.
No milestone names the meadow, No seal can bind the way; From open doors and rain-dark fields A thousand voices say:
The paths are visible in rain, No crown can hold, no map can name. Heart to hearth and door to door, We are the road worth fighting for. Let iron come and stake its claim - We grow wild beneath the rain.
Listen - under the frame drum's turning, Far beyond the willow line, Something answers, low and even, Four cold notes in measured time.
Only thunder, close the shutters; Only wagons on the plain. Why then have the rooks gone silent? Why do hoofprints face the rain?
Fold the cloth and bank the fire, Count the cups and bar no door. Tie the reed and mind the byway; We have heard such sounds before. Not a horn and not a hammer, Not the root beneath the grain - Something seeks a road to follow, Something walking through the rain.
Evening lays a light On pear and chimney stone; Every house becomes a star, But none of them stands alone. If tomorrow brings a stranger With a ledger and a chain, Let them learn what roots have taught us: Living roads do not stay tame.
The paths are visible in rain, No crown shall hold, no map shall name. Heart to hearth and door to door, We are the road worth fighting for. Let ravens come and stake their claim - We grow wild beneath the rain.
The paths are visible in rain, The paths grow wild beneath the rain.
Rain upon the leaves, Footsteps on the plain.
Ooh-ah, ooh-ah The paths are visible in rain.