We see it As a victory Of the human spirit, Tales of glory That makes us proud. But it’s a pity She’s denuded bare, Ravaged her virginity, And up there There’s a crowd. The height is made to pale, They’re dwarfing the peak, Adventurers on glory’s trail Litter the path they scale. We take it as a test Of man’s superior might That would not rest Till it scales the greatest height. But the mountain is no more clean, Tons of wastes scar its air, She’s turned into a dustbin By the crowd going up there. Should we feel proud, And not hear the warning bell, As the mountain is trodden like hell By the mindlessly adventuring crowd?