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He is on the stair, he knows you:
Take your seats inside the tune.
The marionettes are there, listening through you,
Human dreams hang in this room.

Believe their faces, they know you,
Their souls are waiting by their feet
To hold your graces, and your failures,
Not so far above the street.

Poppet Plum, stamp and run
Bobbing thumb, swing your drum
Hand to hand, son to son
Till the Human Tale is done.

Old as this town, old as this man,
With a bagpipe and a bell
Tin-tap, lights go down:
Time for dancing hands!
They can show what we can’t tell.

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