Tom stood out on the ridge on august 10th
and thought about his baby's frozen hands,
and how although he'd lived, he'd never climbed a rope
or touch the face of a lover again.

In the white watered wild
he fell into a crevasse and somehow stayed alive.
From the glacier's heart of white,
through a jagged slit of light,
cloud shapes of horses he would ride.

When that fool played the ridge like an illegal game,
his knees over the wire,
and we all wanted to be him until the minute he slipped
and scattered broken bones across the scree.

From the knifelike mangled peak
Tom saw his clothing scattered far beneath-
an unretrievable mess of gear and bones
Washing down the watershed,
turning into something green.

From the glacier's heart of white,
through a jagged slit of light saw the horses he would ride.


Lyrics submitted by Fyce

Fifty Fourteeners song meanings
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