And so as darkness fell on the first of days and the skyline opened wide The Heavens in their oblique majesty did speak of an old and holy grove Enumerate in starlit forms how the trees came to speak in tongues And what it is they say through a conduit of horned form
O', lowly Pilgrim! How dare thee have the gall to seek My graven image, stead and swift among the grass and leaves?
Know not of malice O', benefactor! Know no pretence at my side! Know not of where it is you came from Know, Pilgrim Know of these three things
The Sword that is not a Sword The Sound that is not a Sound The Face that is not a Face
These boons, I give to thee O', Pilgrim To light the way home!
