Beyond The Whispering Edge

(hummmmm) Beyond the line where the sun grows dim,

it sails through the cold,

a quiet pilgrim.

Fifty-five voices preserved in the gold,

a warm beating heart from the stories of old.

It drifts through the dark,

untouched by the dust,

a message of grace,

an ancient trust.

Almost a day for the signal to find us,

leaving the cradle of starlight behind us. (ahhhh)

The hands that built it have returned to the clay,

but it still answers,

so far away.

One-way

journey

into the deep.

Through the endless dark,

it does not

sleep. (hummmmm)

It

still answers.