lyrics
If you listen, upon the wind, a story you might hear.
A story of valour, of sacrifice, that's been lost o' count of years.
Our tenacious travelling troubadour, A terrific, terrible tale tells,
Of Captain Borglet's Ascent to the Hidden Lands, That lie outside of this realm.
Borglet was an anointed rat, who traversed across the land,
With his fiddle and pipe, hat and cravat, he quested for something grand
A tune of legend, so beautiful and pure, it opened the gate to the astral plane.
So he might scurry out of this world, and up, to escape from his pain.
Our scholarly rat, he searched for years; he sailed the seven seas.
He played every tune in the whole wide world,
He knew a hornpipe that would break your knees.
Kings and queens, and even the moon,
seemed to weep when they heard him play,
Yet, this tune of legend evaded him still,
until crushed he called it a day.
Now our ambitious protagonist
was quite the antagonist to the very idea of defeat.
But the feat which defeated our noble soul, was too much to meet.
He cast down his hat, his fiddle and his bow, at the foot of a rowan tree,
He scurried up, and sat on a branch, and this he said to me.
"I cannot do it", he screamed to the sky,
"I cannot open the dimensional gate
All of these years; all this success, cannot my divine appetite sate.
I can paradiddle in the middle of a fiddle, whilst nibbling idly on my pipe.
Yet the astral plane, and it's divine mysteries remain beyond my sight."
And as he sat he began to play, and the tree both groaned and creaked,
A branch grew up high, high in the sky, until the very stars it reached.
"I've done it!" He cried, weeping with joy.
"It leads straight to the astral plane"
And so Captain Borglet scurried up the branch
And was never, seen, again.
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