To ride those hills and valleys
Where once I used to roam

And camp beneath the Sallies
The place I call home.

To ascend upon those ranges 
With their beauty rich and rare 
Where there's no fear of danger
Around the hills of the Old Grey Mare

To hear again those stories
Told by me good old mates
Just to see again those glories
Before they lock the gates

If moon or sun shines from above
Or maybe a cloudy sky
This is natures home I love
The place I wish to die

And as I breathe my last farewell
If gone to heaven or down to hell
Bury me deep so my bones will keep
On a windy ridge to create no smell

Where the snow will snow
And the wind will blow
Where the dingoes howl quite clearly
Midst the hills I love so dearly

Where the water runs like fountains
And the wilderness to save
To be buried in those mountains
In a mountain lover's grave.

Jack Bolton 1992