I stand at the base of the mountaintop camp,
and gaze at the lake down below
The mist rises up from the new falling snow,
kissing the waters glass eye
I wave to the sun as I sing my old song,
I think of a memory and cry
The trek to the top has me broken and torn,
I look to the camp and say bye
I climb to the crest, as the other side waits,
will this be the time that I die
I think for a moment, then think for a while,
I think of a memory and smile
I start on my walk, and know in my heart,
today's not the day that I die