[0:01]In verses it will be. Unspoken it was as it were unseen, for it has yet been witnessed by neither wolf nor passerine. Until the meadowlark, with a wish to heed, the bird came in search of a tale to sing its song, granted an adventure is willed for one to be sung. With its eyes it watched the dancers swing to an air its ears could fathom, its wings were able to carry it far, along with a lyric the moors have bestowed. In its voice it rang as a beholder, the witness, whistling to wake an audience. Given a purpose true and grand, the meadowlark brought fables to fields that mirrored its golden heart.
[0:58]It was then they rose with the sun from below the humming groves, came forth the mother trees: "The Four Cradles".
[1:17]Each birthing a wandering tale-teller all together avowed as "The Harkers". Inspiring an ensemble of children known as "The Lark". Having heard of the warbler's promises, they swore to nurture its melody. Fostering a strain of magic called "Wonderment". The very same aria that brought them to existence.
[1:51]They who wield wonder: the "Wonderfolk".
[2:10]The Storyteller is a friend of the past, unburrowing before by warble and string. The Bell-ringer chimes in with the future, serenading serendipity. The Enkindled encourages equilibrium, courting cadence among the untamed. The Croon is a tempest, dishonouring stillness, daughtering disharmony.
[3:02]My name is Yaelokre and I stand before you as the meadowlark. Authoring fence-hopping billies and rabbits affright, the hopes of honouring a magic lost to us who have grown, and a promise made to the child we once were. Let me introduce to you my friends! Okay! Hum!
[3:24]And we've got JD on the bass! Emil on the strings!
[3:34]Jhong on the percussions! and Eugene on the drums!
[3:49]We are here to tell you yet another story, one you may or may not be familiar with. But it doesn't matter, I will be telling them again. What once was a hamlet left to play pretend, remained a scarecrow, a hen, and a leveret. Far fled the croon to cry for its mother, the promise to reave life to make way for another. "If this were destined, then I shall not question. Though now you must tell me: why was it not taken?" Says she to the Harker. "The child does not belong here!" answered the Storyteller. "Take it far, give it a name! Places forget, stories remember."
[4:47]And it with that final verse delivered, goodbyes were sealed. This is a song of origin, my farewells to the fields.
[5:00]and I am in hiding. They've forgotten, they've forgotten, I do not want to see. I could hear and that's enough, the clashing of the hoards. Hoof by hoof, horn by horn. Raging song and an encore. I could barely speak, I could only hum a tune. And with that I am met with a chorus. I am soon sought and safe behind a wing, my farewells to the fields, to the man made of straws, to my name, to the hills.
[5:51]Townlets adorned with memories, unvarnished or forged, a mother who sought and she to never recall. Forgotten they were by word, love, or sin. The Croon made a promise, unknown of what's within. "I will sing you my truth!" voiced the overwrought rabbit, "And so will I!" howled the hircine. The conifers twirled, yet the cervid stayed quiet. Music swung along with the crowd as they riot! Be all ears! The Lark is willed, with Songs of Origin: from huts to cages, from house to hills.
[6:50]Bird cage blue and yellow, candles warm and windows bare. Tracing upturned smiles of portraits drawn to disappear.
[7:05]Flowers never talk, they never want, they never need. In a cradle gilded, they are left to rot yet never bleed. Eyes of silver, mirror, mirror. Thread on wood and steel. Keep what can be kept and heave to see which one will kneel. I've been told to wait but why should there be silence? Dawning pretty laces, weaving capes of gold, and framing muffled faces. I can be different. I can't be puppeted. Garden evergreen was what I thought that I would see. Branches meet my steps, their kisses open up ravines. Fences frozen in a dance they've yet to perform. I leave the house and the Baroness buried in before. Finndu mig í framtíðinni. Malaya ang maya, malayo-layo.
[9:35]So much excitement in such little bodies.
[9:49]The Playwright would love to send their regards, a thanks to AURORA for allowing us this opportunity.
[10:00]Wishing you all a wonderful evening, that you've enjoyed the sound of ena mori of which they've performed marvelously. Hear ye I say as I sing to you my plight to choose. Must I look below mildewy timbers?
[10:37]Staves my feet are perched on. Able to bear my weight with no protest.
[10:59]And yet I am to tumble down.
[11:15]Down to where I can hear them. "Glory thy stillness" was a verse mistaken by disfavoured ones like you.
[12:11]From faults, favours, failures, and the truth that love alone, love alone isn't enough.
[13:11]It's called "Kamahalan" and it's very special to me. So if you know the lyrics I would love for you to scream and shout with me! It would be nice It'd be good, would be wonderful.
[13:38]BATA! Kamahalan, Kamahalan, Kamahalan. Kamahal. Kagalakang kumikislap, ang tawanang dinig habang ang kasinungalingan ay dumurungaw sa paglathala ng katotohanan.
[14:06]Ano ang sabi nila? Ito ang Sabi nila! Kung kani-kanino, kung saan-saan nalang nakatingin, 'di naririnig. Ikaw ang kamahalan. Ikaw ang Bata, bata, wag kang matakot. Isigaw at sumayaw ikay umikot. Maghintay o mangalok o makalimot. Kamahalan, Kamahalan.
[15:36]Bata, bata, wag kang matakot! Isigaw at sumayaw ikay umikot! Maghintay o mangalok o makalimot! Kamahalan, Kamahalan!
[16:14]And that's why children rule the world. They are our future. Basically our majesties. Kamahalan.
[16:30]It's a lot of fun, it's a treat. Think you'll like this one. I think. No. Maybe? I don't know. Well. People do wonder about lore. People wonder about the Four Cradles Cole Seymour how they are Well. about their nature well seldom if at all, do the Harkers themselves cross paths. The Four Cradles have purposely kept them apart as a means of traversing greater land, called for in accordance to when and where they are most needed. They have never been seen, nor heard, or have performed in the same place at the same time. Except for when they had to convince a majesty foolish enough to not listen. Don't be like him. The Storyteller arrived with a word of history, he did not heed. The Bell-ringer (appeared) hoping to persuade his tomorrow, he refused to follow. The Enkindled invited him to a dance, the intention of his doubt winning against him.
[17:59]And so came the Croon, scorned by his apathy, an indifference that could affect the lives of many. Alas, and as you'd expect, he covered his ears, as his reason was as much of a burden as the consequence. He failed to listen to the Harkers, thus resulting in having to face their mothers. The humming ceased as the groves bellowed over his kingdom, over his people, over his sheep! There was not much else the audience knew about the truth of each witness. Even the Storyteller, who was born incapable of telling a lie, have its words shapen. As years have gone, so has the gospel. What we know now as "The Harpy, the Hare, and the Hound" is a variant of that narrative. Reduced to a tale told to children, a story to warn them of the dangers so that they won't disobey,
[19:03]but mostly a rhyme chanted in the form of a clapping game.
[19:56]Harpy Hare, where have you buried all your children? Tell me, so I say. All the arrows that you've stolen split in half, now bum and broken Like your heart that was so eager to be hid You can't keep them all caged They will fight and run away Mother, tell me, so I say Harpy Hare, where have you buried all your children? Tell me, so I say.
