Mountain, Mountain, Mountain. Road.
Marble at its the End. And Lo!
For years and years, none carved
this white, blank slate of marble.
(Larry toldsme it's called a table.)

Mountain, Mountain, pipesong, ay hear
sitting atop Phaestus' statue, here
'way it goes, who knows, who knows?
The roads are many, to our souls.
(Upwards to snow, the wind blows.)

Mountain, Pipesong, Snowfall. Breeze!
t'is a lovely valley, this one where ay live.
t'would be a granday, under a Prosperian tree
or even Caer Witrin. Take me anywhere, wind.

Mountain, Pipesong, Snowfall. Enemy me!
for death is not the end. (oh heavy load!)
It's just a faster way to the Prelatorian Road.



Penned by my hand on the 20th of Lupar, in the year 371 AF.