Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground,
an hour long you'll have to look & to recover what we took,
& while you're searching, ponder this; we've taken what you'll sorely miss.
An hour long you'll have to look & to recover what we took,
your time's half-gone, so tarry not, lest what you seek stays here to rot,
but past an hour, the prospect's black, too late, it's gone, it won't come back.