This lake; these lands I stand upon
Have and age - an epoch that can't be known
They bear ancient names;
The only remnants of those here before
I like to think that the ravens who come
Bear their wayward souls back to this land they called home
But likely these are only ravens
And nothing more
I like to think that every raindrop that falls here
Are their tears returning home - that they may weep no more
But likely they are only raindrops
And nothing more
I like to think after I yield forth my last breath
That my spirit will join those ancient ones
In song to our beloved mountains
But likely that day
We shall all be dust
And nothing more