The Mountain - Richard Shindell

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 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