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.