One of the most beautiful songs ever ❤️

Remote Desire

As a military veteran, I’ve spent years watching the "sharp end" of manifestos written by self-serving "kings" on both sides of every border. I’ve always been bemused by the idolatry of politicians; in my experience, their promises are rarely for the benefit of the people on the ground. This song is a response to that hollow noise—a recognition of an older, quieter law: the Code of the Doorstep.
Taking its cue from the Pashtun villagers who risked their lives to protect a wounded stranger in the Afghan mountains (the custom of Nanawatai), the song bridges that act of honour with the Christmas Truce of 1914.
It is a haunting ballad for those who have ever been "lost with no hope." It is a reminder that once you strip away the flags and the manufactured hate, the human heart remains a sanctuary. Good people exist as widely as the bad in every country on earth. This is for the protectors, the hosts, and the quiet men who refuse to inherit a politician’s enmity.

Themes:
• The Horizontal Bond: Man-to-man honour versus the vertical power of the state.
• Pashtunwali: A tribute to the ancient Afghan code of hospitality.
• The Shared Trench: From the mud of Flanders to the dust of the Kunar Valley.
• The Human Spark: Finding sanctuary when all hope is lost.

LYRICS

[Verse 1]
I’ve read the letters home from 1914 in the slush
How the heavy iron thunder fell into a sudden hush
They didn't wait for telegrams or a signal from the King
They just stepped out from the frozen ruts to hear the others sing
Between the wire and the waste, they found a common tongue
And kicked a ball across the mud where the bitter songs were sung.

[Verse 2]
Now I’m staring at a doorway in a land of mountain stone
Where a man stands at his threshold, and he stands there all alone
The world is screaming "Enemy," the Kings are demanding blood
But he’s practicing a mercy that is older than the flood
He sees a broken traveler, he sees a gasping breath
And he offers up his own roof as a shield against the death.

[Chorus]
It’s the soccer in the hollow, it’s the bread upon the plate
It’s the refusal of a good man to inherit someone’s hate
From the trenches of the border to the village in the dust
There’s a law above the manifestos, built on simple trust
For when the "other" is a guest, the war is forced to cease
In the quiet, holy shadows of the Unofficial Peace.

[Bridge]
The politicians argue in their rooms of gold and glass
While they count the lives of children like the blades of summer grass
But they don’t know the weight of "No," and they don’t know the cost
Of the man who guards the doorway when the hope is nearly lost.

[Outro]
It’s just a ball in the mud...
It’s just a hand in the dark...
It’s the fire in the village...
That keeps the human spark.

Humanity

Một khoảnh khắc yêu muộn trong chiều mưa, nơi cánh hoa bằng lăng rơi theo gió và một đám cưới dần khuất xa trong im lặng.

Release

Grace Potter

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