cracked earth, gold ruins of a tribe that reigned
within this deep narrow chasm, I reside
cradling tribesmen bones, I'm faithfully chained
as opposed steep rock walls loom either side

east; a rope ladder posed by those before
an easy cliff ascent to its plateau
where a hamlet sits; my hometown Baloor
my old life of merriment and wines' flow

west; the way seized by foolish and fearless
scaling the crag is the only recourse
no lent equipment; a route taken gearless
and once at the top, there is more of course

escaping the gorge; a hurdle stands tall
mount gravefall. stretching straight to the sky
on snowy peak; a tower of stone wall
its said worlds edge can be seen from so high

up its thousand winding steps lives its sire
the old grey wizard who claims to see all
it is his conference I so desire
for it's he who'll restore sight to a fool

it's west I choose - the impossible west!
I begin my climb my struggle and strain
loose rocks, lost footing, I fail the test
the wizard above laughs as I try again
... and again

I once made it half up that mountain's side
'till the wizard let out a thund'rous shout
sent tumbling down with the triggered rockslide
to where I started, my home and hole, in pout

staring at my sliver of scrolling grey cloud
recumbent I lie, my quest drew no gains
as townsfolk leer down and wonder aloud
for that patient ladder, no strength remains

soon winter will flood this canyon estate
washing away all who stay in this bowl
I will join my tribal friends as I wait
for my bones to be held by another lost soul