Tomorrow when the moon goes down upon a black and oily sea,

Before the early fisherfolk themselves begin to rise,

You may perceive a ringing in your ears, a whispered plea,

The singing of a song that you’ve been brainwashed to despise.

 

Out of the water, the waves, the green, the nighttime rocking boats,

This lonely story singing ancient coming from the rocks

Who is singing? Down and underneath the moss lined moats

Ten thousand women, secrets pulsing from their unchoked locks.

 

So listen, children, listen, close your eyes and lend an ear

The clouds may rock with thunder while you listen and you hear

But pay no mind, just hold your hands and sip your chocolate hot,

For many things this story is but hopeless it is not!

 

Into the woods, into the trees

Where secret gems are waiting, these

The ones you feel but never see

The deepest truths that never flee

 

Truer than bread, stronger than wine

and tangerine and clementine

Sweeter than dates that drip from trees

It conquers whom it doesn’t please…