The mountain is covered in the snow
It covets sun, but all it gets is blizzard
It looks upon its foot, jealous of lows
It envies the look of birds and lizards
They are, indeed, alive, and moving fast
While our mountain’s ever still and static
It has no future as it has no past
Just ice, and ores in depths of spacious attic
The ancient rocks know not of hope and fears
They recognize no spark of genuine feelings
They don’t, and needn’t fathom wits and gears
They do not care ‘bout inner, outer peelings
The mountain is covered in the snow
It covets blizzard, bathing in sun’s presence
It looks up to the stars, their luring glow
Remaining within nulling standstill essence