As the purple sky kisses the horizon once again,
Life retires in the warmth of the chimney fire,
The last wings cast their shadows on the earth.
There on the threshold of the hours of darkness,
I wish to be home, the land of my birth.
In the stillness of the even I stand and cry.
Cradled in the snow covered mountains,
Lies my beloved country; yet under foreign reign.
Deep valleys, with echoes of old now at refrain.
Tibet a sanctuary of peace and power divine,
And lo! it is no more.
Now withered by time, I still stand and cry.
Yearning to be home, of all its glories now shorn,
I close my eyes and say a little prayer.
And behold! In the evening sky
As I retire in the warmth of the chimney fire,
There in my minds eye,
I glimpse my land, my hearts desire.
Tibet, the land with turquoise blue seas,
Magnificent peaks in the heavens afloat,
Forests with the wind chiming through the pines mild,
Green pastures where the yaks dwell and antelopes wild.
A young lad, blowing his pipe, playing melodies of old,
Of love, of life, of freedom, of stories often told.