The music that haunts these misty woods
Would make the earth beloved and yet
The notes she harbours gently play
In solitude their strange duet
The song that owns these frightening woods
Must needs be calm, must needs be eloquent
The melancholy in its tunes
But tell of days in goodness spent
The wasteland’s weary of destruction
Yet we danced around in hollowness
The grave spits out the wasted bones
And mourns and mourns its idleness
The lark, the sparrow shall keep singing
The uncontested voice of ceremony
A song that brings and will keep bringing
To peace a finished melody
The final beat’s oblivion
And many died before the stroke
Thus silence rounds the symphony
The great unfinished never spoke