I'm trapped in my own labyrinth, funny isn't it?
And no one's willing to lend me a hand
The string that keeps me back is already broken
The light that gives me hope has slowly faded
...
Split the Lark—and you'll find the Music—
Bulb after Bulb, in Silver rolled—
Scantilly dealt to the Summer Morning
Saved for your Ear when Lutes be old.