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Lyrics: Harry Robertson

Mountain of culture.
Tinselled formation that dazzles.
Topmost heights wreathed in swirling mists of obscure perfection,
Foothill foundation straddles the broad stream of life,
Inhabited by high priests of poetry.
Harvesting the thoughts of many, refining, reforming, crystalizing, beyond recognition.
Designing word pearls and jewelled phrases void of substance,
To become the cherished currency of an impotent group.

What are you? and why?
Remote in your towering fastness, heed the tremors beneath you.
Chill shadows of your height, won’t shroud you forever,
They too seek the sun of expression.
Restless winds from the valley of life, surge up to dispell your mists.
Bitter, sweet, uncut, unpolished, unlettered thoughts of expression, rise towards you — meet them.
Do not chill with your icy perfection, — be temperate,
And they will thaw you with warm humanity, lift your shadow, and free you from isolation.

© Harry Robertson
and subsequently ©1995 Mrs Rita Robertson, Brisbane, AUSTRALIA
Registered with APRA/AMCOS www.apra-amcos.com.au