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In the woods around Mt. Baker, they say, Lives a mean old man to this very day. He screams in the night like a banshee cry, From way on top this mountain on high. You won't see his footfalls, you won't see his face, But he will see you if you come to this place. No manmade structure will he call his home, Just the treetops and caverns to which he will roam. He eats fish, berries and a pine-bark tea; As well as a rabbit or squirrel he sees. Alone is just how he likes it to be, His wife died when he was just twenty-three. He thought she ran off, his anger was great. But four days later, he found her true fate. It seems as though she had gone for a swim, But the current was strong, and just pulled her in. There was a big hole where her head hit a tree. Her face showed her fear as she tried to break free. He picked her up gently and took her away, Created a shrine for her that very day. It's been forty-five years, he lives up there still. Praying each morning, his wish to fulfill. At the end of the day, when he find he still lives, He screams out with all that he has to give. Others who come say that spirits are here, But the local folks know the story quite clear. Some say he's a black man, others say white; But no one is ever quite sure who is right. The old man of Mt. Baker, he lives up there still; Day after day through the strength of his will. But what does he look like, where does he go? It seems as if none of us will ever know.
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