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Gunstock Mountain
03:42
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I climbed up Gunstock Mountain, to see what I could see
The summit was a lathe and wood turning machinery
The mountain was a stockpile, a pile of gunstocks
Rifle butts and cheek rests in between the rocks
I climbed up Gunstock Mountain, to see what I could find
A stockade of whittling sticks with frightened creatures behind
All around was sawdust, soaking up the blood
Marbling and streaking the dark mineral mud
High on Gunstock Mountain, I mounted my own scope
And I saw linseed oil pouring down the slopes
I saw steel wool bushes of the finest grade
I flat sawed some wood blanks and fine gunstocks I made
From thin shelled English walnut, and bird's eye maple wood
Arctic birch and beech, oak, anything I could
Crotch figured and feathering, fiddleback and burl
Tiger striped, spalting, quilted, blister, curls
I climbed up Gunstock Mountain, to better see the world
Recoiling in horror from these insults I hurled
I climbed up Gunstock Mountain, so I could see the sea
I fell upon my ski pole, harakiri
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