I looked out from a summit and in front of me, stood an endless parade of more summits, some of them were tall, and some of them were small, but all of them shared their freedom with me.
Some stood there proud, as the sun kissed their snow white shrouds,
a brilliant glittering display,
diamond rings sparkling,
as the sun light danced and played.
And there were those who slept away the day, peaks resting on cotton hallows, surrounding baron rock, dressed in patches of clay.
There were others that hid in the shadows of the range, lost in the darkness of yet another day.
I stood on those mountains, but what then did I know, when I climbed to their tops, I had nowhere else to go.
I think I'll walk on down to the valley,
that's where it all begins. I'll look up
at the mountain I'm standing on now,
tip my hat, and smile with a grin.
And then I will put on my climbing shoes, and cut out an old oaken staff. I'll start up the north face of that one there, or maybe the one on this path.
It really does not matter much,
I must climb them all in the end.
I've been over those mountains once before, those mountains are my friends.