With each mountain’s step, with feet of bare
Upon my wistful head, I carry my own fare.
Walking 15 miles a day, in rain, in shine.
The clothes, the floor I lay, water with wine.
I’m young I\'m beautiful, I work as a slave,
From morn till night, I walk my own grave.
Beware I am of Zombie threats.
Alone in mountains, in the valley’s depth.
My cargo I will bring, the birds they will sing.
The bells they will ring, determination is the thing.
My labors although hard, give food and graceful eats.
Its worth it, as I travel far, as the day repeats.