I’ve dreamt about you since I was fourteen
Who would have thought we’d actually meet
I’m a lost soldier disguised by travel and fatigue
Your snow covered cabins and woods my distant retreat

The dwellers of telemark pure and honest
Untouched by a world of industry false knowledge
Spirit wood whispers through quiet nights
Each star bright and close no ending in sight

The people are the skis and the skis the people
There’s little lost from the Vikings to modern day steeples

There’s still fire burning in the hearts of those here
Amundsen and Norheim possessed fierce over fear

History is current when you walk the slopes around here
The buildings remind me the old the world is near
My words curt
My expression difficult
When words are not justice for impact or impression

I’ve signed my name in the book upon the hill
May the people of the town accept me as one of their own.