The mist beyond the hill that was a silver coloured cloak
And hid their eyes from the long toil of the road
Has cleared to show them warning
Of a tired and blighted morning
With another hell of a way to go
And the muscles in his legs are twitching underneath his skin
The hooves are slowing steady to a stop
And the pass begins to spiral
Like a staircase of a thousand
Where the steepest steps are bathed in glassy frost
The glimmer of a light that fought its hardest through the grey
Is now a shadow of the hope it was before
And the dread has left them praying
That the darkness won’t coming fleeing
And they’ll reach rest and be thankful without woe
The track it winds and narrows to unnerve the faint of hearts
But there’s solace in their last leg to the stone
As if the albatross had fallen
Into view there rises Lomond
And with that they lay their weary bodies down
But night it had plans of treachery
A terrible tempest cast
A chill that would crack the toughest bones
A winter worse than the last
As if an old forgotten scripture, taking pity on their hands
Lifted back the curtain of the morn’
Thankful for their rest and for the blood still circling, blessed
They made it through the night and carried on