Ask the man on the mountain which way to run Whichever you choose will be the right one 'Twas a prince of an evening and the moon hung low I was feeling like Mordred when he struck the last blow My sword hung poised at the High King's throat He begged for no mercy but sang as he spoke : Ask the man on the mountain which way to run Whichever you choose will be the right one Twelve crooked jurors snuck in for the kill