I know you live here; I see your strange marks in the clay The place where you lay down is evident to me And as the deer panteth for the water So this stream is good to see They call me city and England here, some say California But my feet have not left prints in either of those places These mountain forests, they sing to me So for days I wander here, forsaking human faces I saw the pictures and heard the stories of days that have long past Large herds of deer and hidden lak