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Richard Shindell
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The Mountain
I was born in a forked-tongued story
Raised up by merchants and drugstore liars
Now I walk on the paths of glory
One foot in ice, one in fire
I see the mountain, the mountain comes to me
I see the mountain and that is all I see
Some poor prophet comes, some find solace
Some lay him down in a junkyard bay
Some will chase us and some will call us
Gone, gone, gone in a day
Gone to the mountain, the mountain comes to me
I see the mountain and that is all I see
Miller take me and miller grind me
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Scatter by bones on the wild green tide
Maybe some roving bird will find me
Over the water we'll ride
Over the mountain, the mountain comes to me
I see the mountain and that is all I see
Some build temples and some find altars
Some come in tall hats and robes spun fine
Some in rags, some in gemstone halters
Some push the pegs back in line
I see the mountain, the mountain comes to me
I see the mountain and that is all I see
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