Enthroned she is Upon her seat of tear's; Aloft so high Her feather's flyeth I shalt unfluster All her fear's.
ii
We shant get old Ourn young fashioned soul's; To pirouette ourn secluded abode And in this land of gold Ourn solid mold To fit into amour' letter's.
iii
Nevi'im of the time's Prescient of mind's; Mine arm's shalt wrappeth thee On plain's arrived And when thou cryeth I'll remindeth thee, thou art mine.
iv
Stroketh mine hair I'll pulleth thine own slowly; Thou feeleth alone Though with me and God, thou art not lonely. We'll March, and be showy, showing all of us We'll be the dream, other's seeketh, though canst not find....