We gleam we glamor
We ponder we pander
We sit in silence at the grave of our master

We sit we starve
We lift and we carve
We breathe in the silence of her alabaster caster

No reading for slander
No speaking too candor
No wonder we sit at their table so tender

An hour we wait
Two hours of mourning
Three droplets to carry an artery gone cold

We ode to the streams of glass and favor
No more must we wade in her pondering pander