[Verse] A marmot keeps a map beneath the clover Counts each hill before the thaw is over Pockets full of seeds, a careful king Turns the coldest morning into spring [Chorus] Hey, little marmot, where you going now? Dust on your whiskers, sun upon your brow You climb, you pause, you vanish in the grass A small brave traveler letting seasons pass [Outro] When the ridge turns gold, you’ll be home somehow
