There′s a place up in the north where the world turns green,There′s a place up in the north where the world turns green,

Mist on the rice terraces, cedar and river between.

They point and say I′m from where Dukafouni′s light,

Our tea steams at dawn and children run into the bright.

For all the good kids in Iran, we fold our laughter tight,

We tell the world we have no story, then hum it through the night.

Stones remember footsteps, bazaars keep the names,

Ferdowsi′s verse is in our mouths like an old flame.

Nobody′s voice is quiet here, we carry what we know,

From alley to the mountain ridge, our echoes freely go.

Streets of Rukak, we rise, gain light on our face,

Streets of Rukak, we rise, every step a place,

When silence tries to close your eyes, our songs will open wide.

Streets of Rukak, we rise, with history on our side.

We walk the soft, soft shore where girls trade the breeze,

Play ovens, breathe warm bread and saffron scents the trees.

They say our streets don′t tell a tale, we smile and show the signs,

We paint a gore, a crooked step, a proverb braided in the lines,

From Rukak′s green to Dukafooni, every sunrise draws a map.

We spin the simple, sacred threads that keep our homeland in our lap.

Lanterns hum like heartbeat drums, old women hum the rhyme,

Ferdowsi in the corner shout the ghost of every turn,

No story lost, only waiting in the fourth of cloth and song,

Our streets reach past the market square to Halakha′s distant dawn.

Streets of Qorogh — Green North Anthem 2

Indie Folk / World Fusion