[Intro: soft lute finger plucking and bassy tenor humming to self] Here do you find, we deep hive kind We clutch hatch many, of ald shell tribe. You? True? Seems so? I see. Dew-drink was-starve, now wakes from dreams? Look. Closer. Watch how I sign. These are the whims, as happens on by, derived of time, and past prime swill, Ready will you be, intersects strange will? Wend, whine, drop low as you can. Shall soon wish listened as you here did stand, here now before we, who knows what's more. Lies there behind closed brass door? Dreams? Means? To what end!? Too much? Drift along like a draft back then! Fearful? Maybe? Have what it takes? Linger longer and of the last draught take. Drink, wake, see the others' dream, another and another, keep on through each fever sleep stream, [Hint of brass instrumentation plays for 2 bars then stops] Good, good, we recognize what that means, wheel set, journey on, blessed be you she, and so to you mirror make he what seems. Names you now as old Elytra queens, scuttle-hum and chitter-squawk, either or which, ever prefers, rest if need, but the way now clear, eyes as clean as well rinsed seer. Ware though the sounds and the sights, between the here and there, many old whynds, linger in the wheel grind air. Brass were once, and grabby sum thieves, guard well the dew when whistles flee theme. [Lute playing becomes more melodic] [Light almost whisper organ music] [Harpsicord softly plays fo 6 bars] [Lute harmony] [Interlude] [Bassy hum and whistle]
