Hello, mountain, my old friend!
I've come to dance on you again
Because a sunrise slowly creeping
Led me here where I'm now leaping,
And a young lark who was learning how to pray
Flew my way
And sang its sound of music.

Through bubbling brooks I ran alone,
Picked some flowers, threw some stones,
Sang the songs of a Salzburg lass.
I left my wimple in the waving grass.
Then my mind was grabbed by the flash of a future sight
That gave me fright
And paused my sound of music.

And in this vision then I saw
Some seven children and their Pa:
Children marching without playing!
Children study'ng without dancing!
Children stifling songs their voices never share!
Who could dare
Bring them the sound of music?

"Kids," said I, "You ought to know
Ti la sol fa mi re do!
Hear my notes that I might reach you!
Sing my songs that I will teach you!"
But their Dad like Nazi troopers yelled!
(Handsome, swell!)
Objected to my sound of music.

On the hills I sang and prayed.
For an hour or so I stayed.
Then the convent rang its warning:
Time for prayers in the Mass Morning!
And the bells said, "Again, late, Maria?
You're never gonna be a nun!
You love too much fun."
I run back, to the sound of music.