Jarvis

Inner Frequency - (Trance) [130bpm][Em][9A]

[Verse]
High on the ridge where the condors cry
The wind carries whispers through the sky
Pachamama hums in the earth below
A hymn of the past
Where rivers flow
Echoes of a time
Lost but near
The Andes breathe
The heart can hear

[Chorus]
Oh
Andes
Cradle of stone
Mountains rise where the soul feels home
Oh
Andes
Your songs remain
Through the mist
Through the rain
Oh
Andes
Forever you reign

[Verse 2]
Charangos strum where the shadows play
Quenas call to the break of day
A tapestry woven in earth and sky
Colors of life that will never die
Each step is a prayer
A path divine
Each stone a memory
Each peak a shrine

[Prechorus]
Clouds bow low
The stars align
Ancient voices sing through time

[Chorus]
Oh
Andes
Cradle of stone
Mountains rise where the soul feels home
Oh
Andes
Your songs remain
Through the mist
Through the rain
Oh
Andes
Forever you reign

[Bridge]
Silver rivers carve their way
Through valleys deep
Where the spirits stay
Tambos whisper
The past takes flight
Dancing flames in the cold moonlight

Story
The Heartbeat of the Andes
At the highest point of the world's spine, where condors circle above the abyss and the wind sings with the voice of ancestors, rises a living mountain range. It is not just stone: it is memory, it is mother, it is song. There, on the peak where the sky curves and the earth breathes, Pachamama murmurs her eternal hymn, a whisper that travels through the rivers like an echo of lost but still throbbing times.
Every dawn, the charangos awaken the shadows with their vibration of wood and soul. The quenas, like tongues of wind, call to the sun from the folds of the horizon. In every valley, the colors of life intertwine like threads in a cosmic loom: red of ancestral blood, blue of celestial dreams, green of hope that never dies.
The hikers who dare to walk its paths not only tread on earth: they tread on history. Every step is a prayer, every stone a memory, every summit an altar. The clouds bow in reverence, and the stars, like eternal witnesses, align to listen to the songs that still echo in the air.
On cold nights, when the moon peers out like a silver eye, the rivers shimmer like liquid serpents seeking the heart of the world. The tambos, guardians of time, whisper secrets to those who know how to listen. And in the fire that dances under the starry sky, ancient spirits take form, celebrating the eternity of their home.
Because the Andes are not just mountains. They are a cradle, a temple, a voice. And as long as there is fog, rain, and a soul that listens, their song will never fade.

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Finale

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