Sleep well in a cascade of flowing piano lines: High C to low A in a thumb's glance, Bouncing off the imitation ivory in good cheer. A smile on the face of the castle ruins, Red and rosy cheeks as if after a draught of wine. A land where trumpeters wave a white flag In the face of the climate, and croak on a high B flat In the sand Clutching a bit of spice In his hand.