Starshot, halo-bound
So laying me out
You got flaxen wings of hayseed
And something under your arm
And may I please touch
Your fancy tattered cloak
Were its holes divinely fabricated
Or were they eaten out by a moth?
...Eaten out by a moth? (Repeat)
What's that beautiful instrument that you bear?
You did not design that by chance
You were touching a dulcimer's fancy
A Dulcimer's Fancy (Touching a dulcimer's fancy)