Uh, the goat in him is hard to kill
and is has yet to eat his fill
its lengthy struggle
has dragged him to the top of the pile
but the summit is sunless
in dark he ponders its success
holds what he's created
in the hoofs he calls his hands

but he's in love
with the dead grass underneath his hooves
cause it's better than nothing
he's in love
dinner bell
chlorophyl
ringing in his stomach
he's in love

the weak part is getting stronger
his shadow getting longer
the light is fading fast
like winter setting in

with the viewpoint he commands
from the height at which he stands
he can retrace every step to the top
but he'd rather poke out his eyes instead

up there there is no cover between the sky and him
can't help thinking it's over cause
the only way left to go is back.