Listen! Gather around, let me tell you a tale
As old and ancient as the moon is pale.
A tale of a land in a faraway place.
A tale of a people of mysterious race.
The land’s called Arut, means “Blue” in their tongue.
Named after the mountain where a song is sung.
A song of the morning, noon, evening, midnight.
A song filled with love, sadness, joy, and fright.
For its daily sung, at the top of his voice
By a man named Eru, though not by his choice.
For he is the Sing Bringer, the Divine Troubador
Chanteuse of the Gods, Serenander Major.
This Canticle of Canticles, picked never by choice,
Is instead elected, by the sound of his voice.
And four times a day, not one, two, or three
Eru takes a walk, to the Shrine of Terpree
He opens his arms, to the wide earth below
And opens his mouth, lets go a bellow
Heard from slipp’ry stream, to the deepest abyss
And its long low chorus, goes something like this: