Pack up your things
We're going away
Where the air itself sings
Up to the mountain
The Tararuas
Up where there's only
Two of us
Here it comes
Here it is
Last winter
A woman went up there
A friend of ours
She didn't come back
She died in the cold
In her own sleeping bag
Here it comes
Here it is
When your thoughts centre
On going back home
To your own bed
And a warm meal
And in the back part
Of your mind
I believe there is a girl
With a bag and ponytails
Saying run
Boy, you're made of stones and grass
Saying run
Or your gonna come in last"