The surfaces of these mountains, O spirit move me, free me from the labors so that I could breathe mountain air. Carry my body cross the crick, over the fog, up the hee-uhl, and up yonder to the homes of the naive.

The mountains were moved into the valleys with dynamite and machines. After the blasting and the extracting, reclamation came.

Lo and behold,

a Wal*Mart is risen.