As I make my song,
I find it answered from below,
And in peculiar ways I’d like to know,
So down through the green and black,
I fly,
Twixt the shaded realms of time,
Where ages have manifest,
As strands and fur,
Amidst my sweet pine friends,
Until at the source I arrive,
To find strange things,
With sad eyes affixed,
Upon my glorious realm above.
