Dark rhythms from a basecamp - Nepal

My forehead burrows, the worry is clear
I know too well the things to fear

Like the water she left on the side of her pack
Which becomes icy, frozen, undrinkable at that
She reaches anyway and takes off her mitt
Which flutters and blows away with her wit
Her hand becomes numb; she cant hold the rope
No water, no hand, no wit, no hope

Like the air vent he forgets to open at night
And a snow storm starts blowing the tent becomes white
He passed out early after cooking inside
From the poisonous air he has no place to hide
His dreams become wild; he’s on crazy dope
No oxygen, no breath, no air, no hope

Like her focussed mind which ignores the thin air
To turn back now would be too hard to bear
So her climb up is automatic, but her head explodes
She collapses, coughing blood and vomiting loads
Her summit dream is so strong she thinks she can cope
No head, no lungs, no health, no hope

Like the agony of his bladder bursting
While in his warm bed he cant stop cursing
Where the fuck is my pee bottle to no one he said
And where is my head torch; not by the bed
He rises in the dark and falls down the slope
No ridge, no footing, no arrest, no hope

7000m up the air is thin
But weather is good warming hearts within
Dark rhythms at base camp haunt my soul
But I’ve confidence they will reach their goal
And come safely down the climbing rope
So I can cease this endless mope…