Waxwing, waxwing, what do you bring From the frozen North? Waxwing, waxwing, we've been waiting on you. I bring the amber that I have gathered On the northern seashore. For the hatchlings I have fathered for thee. I've been underground where wyverns are bound And where gold and j**els are found, These I hoarded under my barry-brown wing. We have no need, no need of your amber, Likewise your gold and your j**els-- There is no true beauty in things of no use.
Waxwing, waxwing, my only asking: Tether the braces so cruel. Keep my young well-feathered and their bellies full. And waxwing, waxwing, what will you do, When your days of fathering are through, When at last grim d**h comes a'knocking on you? I can do nothing but fly in the wake of my kin. I will soar onward undaunted and die on the wing. I'll die in the canyon of echoes; you'll still hear me sing, And still I will give to you all the things I bring.