Garbs woven of silken stars and leather sewn in with gold
Stories of the past and future stories new and old
Stories tell of green laiden pastures those stories never told

I'd been said to rest but why shouldn't I go out and put it to the test
A dress, stitched with star dust, comet on my neck
I will go out there.

I cannot stay up here.

Gardens evergreen and fields lain with soil I thought that I would be keen
But now the fields are empty, barren, and the ravens scream.

I run home to the moon and sky begging to come home
But when I attempted to return
My comet was gone

Et tu, Domine, iam non es sacer.