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)