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Ask the man on the mountain
which way to run
Whichever you choose
will be the right one
'Twas a prince of an evening
and the moon hung low
I was feeling like Mordred
when he struck the last blow
My sword hung poised
at the High King's throat
He begged for no mercy
but sang as he spoke :
Ask the man on the mountain
which way to run
Whichever you choose
will be the right one
Twelve crooked jurors
snuck in for the kill
