Walking up the winding trail
To the base of the cliff
The wind is blowing in
From the east rather stiff

Unpacking our ropes
And our gear
Telling myself
There's nothing to fear

Onto my harness
I attach a purple bag of chalk
This will allow me
To keep a better grip of the rock

Up the shear face
I eagerly lead
This requires skill
Not a lot of speed

We wear special shoes
Made of rubber to grip
Standing on our toes
Not afraid to slip

My taped fingers bleeding
From grabbing the stone
It's a wonder they're not
Worn to the bone

Cams and chalks
Put into the crack
Must follow the route
Must stay on track

I'm starting to tire
Arms starting to ache
Heart starting to pound
Legs beginning to shake

Got just one last move
And I'll make the summit
And if I don't make it
To the earth I'll plummet