Across the fertile, blossoming planes
Sings music in enchanted refrains
Coming from the cosmos above
Beau as a turtle dove
Whose beauty by god ordained

The dreams our ours. They wont be killed
Despite the Devils who have shilled
To torture us with evil skilled
But our reprieve the bards have willed

The soils of magic we have tilled
To get to the bottom of the truth, it chilled
But truth is ours, we bear it high
And swing the torch around the sky
And look at us, we're thrilled