We slewed past thirty-nine and six
And the land was cold and pale
But the ice was flying through the air
On the face of an awful gale.

There was ice in the air before us
And ice on the land behind
And the dogs was acting nervous
And the men were steering blind.

Over the ice, the endless ice,
We forced our harried way,
With only the sled twixt us and hell,
And the piper still to pay,
On the path to the next of Kay.