Monk’s Mountain

In the year of the frozen fountain
Spring thaw came late that season for no reason
Winter’s dark and long
On a cold mountain
In the year of the frozen fountain

You can hear the voices
In the whispering pines
You can hear the voices
In the whole town, talk of the town

A son was born
But not for the mines
A son was born
To leave it all behind

High lonesome;
You win some
And you lose some

Fingers as such
Will never touch
Rusted tractor junk
When the cold shadows clear
And what appears
Is a monk

Casting a long tall shadow
In manhattan
A long tall shadow
With a pork pie hat on

High lonesome
You win some
And you lose some