There along the Filigree. Where silver tides the Yeomangown. That, that will and that, that be. Are dressed both in a fellow down. So da’ce with me Oh Merry Fay and dally us our merry way. While the Daladia ladies play There holymn songs to Plato Flarny are the men at Gar who chank their teeth at Filigreemen and yank their hair and vank for war. They are a millanteenth angry men. So da’ce with me Merry Fay and dally us our merry way. For I shall sail Gelal today and I may die at sea. The Garmen come. They want us gone. The Terramornge will soon succumb and The Earl of Orange has turned and run into the hills of Galveron The odds are snarred for we are so few. We’re farming men not army men. They’re numbers large. More than we knew had ever marched this girthly span. So da’ce with me my Merry Fay and dally us our merry way and pray we can keep them at bay. Till the Platonians ally.