Starshot, halo-boundnSo laying me outnYou got flaxen wings of hayseednAnd something under your armnnAnd may I please touchnYour fancy tattered cloaknWere its holes divinely fabricatednOr were they eaten out by a moth?nn...Eaten out by a moth? (Repeat)nnWhat's that beautiful instrument that you bear?nYou did not design that by chancenYou were touching a dulcimer's fancynnA Dulcimer's Fancy (Touching a dulcimer's fancy)nnn