Shan't ye remember,

These that were

And those that never have been.

Twas six suns ago, this day,

Ye saw thine angel pray.

A great beam of light upon her,

In that greatest way.

So was her beauty,

Such fine beauty,

Thou couldst do no more

Than stay sat.

A fine drink before ye hast been poured,

You know you want it, your core

Yearns for it, yet still ye

Cannot get past the heathen boar.

Drink deep, tomorrow, who knows?

Her face some new knowledge might show:

Two days ago, she was someone else;

Today, she could stone the crows!

Shan't ye remember,

These that were,

And those that still can be.