Текст песни
France, two thousand and one, the air is cold and grey
The World Cup cross, they added miles today
Fourteen K of mud, a lap they didn't count
Running with the kings on hallowed ground
Bekele is the young one, Haile wears the crown
And I am in the pack as the race goes down
Premier Blanc! The first white in the line!
A flash of pride, a moment frozen in time
With Bekele's fire and Haile's knowing smile
The beat of pounding feet for mile after mile!
Orchestra swells high, the guitars start to scream
Living out an unbelievable dream!
Next morning's haze, a breakfast shared with grace
Haile, with a grin that lights the place
He asks for a teaspoon, a simple, soft request
Bekele gives a fork, he failed the English test
The whitest teeth, a laugh that fills the air
Bekele turns bright red, caught inside the snare
I talked with Haile later, 'bout the running trade
He asked 'bout Russia's runners, what progress we had made
He knew we weren't the fastest, knew we weren't the best
But showed a champion's kindness, putting me to the test
Just a man to man talk, a memory so clear
Whispering advice I still can hear
Premier Blanc! The first white in the line!
A flash of pride, a moment frozen in time
With Bekele's fire and Haile's knowing smile
The beat of pounding feet for mile after mile!
Orchestra swells high, the guitars start to scream
Living out an unbelievable dream!
For twelve long K's, Bekele set the pace
The young lion leading, in this brutal chase
But Haile stalked behind him, patient, wise, and strong
On that last, mistaken lap, where it all went wrong
For the lion cub, the king just took the crown
Waited for the moment, then he put the hammer down
Eleventh in the world, a story I can tell
Of the day the giants ran and I ran with them as well
The fork, the smile, the mud, the Northern sun
The race with the legends
My own race was won
