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Once was heard a tale of a maiden fair to be; which no eyes had ever seen.
Twas said that she yearned a heart for her soul, though she did not wont for company.
I called for the man with the sweetest voice, where doth ly such a place.
In answering verse too sweet for a curse he spun a tale of tragic woe.
Perched on a rock her tower stands still, white as a gleaming shell, from its highest bower a glimps, glittering stars.
The sea the only visage, tis where her gaze doth fall.
Past the farthest edge that man has ever tred, past every shore he has sailed, there is the place a gleaming city awaits.
She calls with no voice, tis a sirens song she weaves upon the salty winds.
A vision to dance upon the waves so vast that one soul might come.
A man to dream of her heavenly face.
A fool to aquire such taste.
And Death shall come a calling for the one who seeks such a dream.
Twas in mournful throws he ended such woes.
Calls for much livelyer tunes.