[Intro — lonely fiddle; wind-like strings] Four names in the book. Four lights in the snow. [Verse 1 — restrained voice; galloping rhythm enters] Four packs we’d carried up before, Four pairs of boots beside the door. At noon, the storm erased the track; We tied the rope and headed back. Then something on the higher ground Matched every step we stumbled down. [Pre-Chorus — strings tighten] No lamp. No pack. No walking poles. Just arms that swung below its knees. I raised my hand to point— [Full stop] Gone. [Chorus — powerful, clean; full galloping metal] Four of us went up the mountain— Five came walking through the snow. One more shadow on the ridge, Moving where our lights won’t go. When we stop, it stops above us. When we run, it takes its time. [Verse 2 — urgent; fiddle weaving between phrases] We found the shelter through the storm And dreamed of anything still warm. But tracks came up the other side— Each hollow twice a bootprint wide. They crossed the snow beneath the eaves; No sign of boots, no mark of skis. [Pre-Chorus — climbing tension] I turned to check the ridge behind. It stood against the whitening sky. I blinked the snow out of my eyes— [Full stop] Gone. [Chorus — heavier; tense vocal harmonies] Four of us went up the mountain— Five came walking through the snow. One more shadow on the ridge, Moving where our lights won’t go. When we stop, it stops above us. When we run, it takes its time. [Bridge — half-time; low voice over a single bowed note] Four of us beneath the porch. Four faces in a shaking torch. We hadn’t knocked. We hadn’t called. A floorboard creaked beyond the wall. [Whispered — no instruments] Outside, above the chimney— The other one stood tall. [Instrumental surge — frantic fiddle; double-kick drums] [Final Chorus — towering, desperate; no triumphant release] Four of us went up the mountain— Five came walking through the snow. One more shadow on the ridge— Now there’s nowhere left to go. One still moving on the skyline. One beneath the shelter’s beams. Four of us went up the mountain— Tell me four are coming home! [Outro — gallop falls away; solitary fiddle] Three lights ahead. Mine makes four. Keep walking. [The fiddle stops mid-phrase.]
