Matterhorn

We started out from Bern one sunny August morn

There was just the four of us against the Matterhorn

There was Albert the Australian and John the Irishman

Me and Bill from Britain, mad dogs in the sun



Matterhorn, Matterhorn

Men have tried and men have died to climb the Matterhorn

That mighty Matterhorn



Two miles up we lost John and our rations fell below

Now Al and Bill are lying beneath an avalanche of snow

Now here I am alone and I know I cannot stop

Two more yards in front of me before I reach the top



Now here I am a dying upon the Matterhorn

Not a thing for me to lie in or a thing to keep me warm

The Queen would surely knight me if I could get back down

But it's closer here to heaven than it is back to the ground