The Flying Yaks

The Flying Yaks

 

There is a place where the yaks play

at the end of steep roads

That are paved with pointy stones

beyond hills that have ever seen

trekking bags and prayer flags

There is a place that gets so cold,

you will find ice in your bones

there is a place where the yaks play

 

Beyond tea shops on hill tops

A place that ain’t green

woolen balls and stone walls

The yaks can be unclean

So they fly up into the cloud, big and loud

swirling very high;

some men say without a doubt

they have seen the yaks fly !

 

Yak’s are big bulky and without any wings

they don’t even have hollow bones,

they’re like a bag of beans

if you ask me ‘how to fly without those fancy things’

I will tell you how a yak flies, it isn’t as hard as it seems

all you have to do is close your eyes and have the courage to dream

 

When it rains in the north they say

the flying yaks are starting to cry

they miss their bread dough,

green fields, or white snow

or may be some butter chai !

 

And  down below the men hide

as yaks stomp their feet,

with their heavy hoofs on cloud roofs

they cause a thunder beat.

And up in the cloud, big and loud

swirling very high;

some men say without a doubt

they have seen the yaks fly !

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