The Silk Road Caravan

The caravan is moving through the sand.
Guided by a cold and frozen hand.
A dark guitar pluck opens up the track.
There is no more turning back.
Follow me along the road of silk.
Where the clouds are white as pouring milk.
Let the old string tell you where to go.
While the deep house rhythm starts to flow.
Violin melodies are rich and grand.
Like a movie filmed in golden land.
Feel the bass line rolling in your veins.
Washing over all our hidden pains.
The skripka cries out an ancient name.
Burning like a slow and silent flame.
Beautiful harmonies begin to bloom.
Chasing shadows from this empty room.
Follow me along the road of silk.
Where the clouds are white as pouring milk.
Let the old string tell you where to go.
While the deep house rhythm starts to flow.
Violin melodies are rich and grand.
Like a movie filmed in golden land.
Feel the bass line rolling in your veins.
Washing over all our hidden pains.