Lore main script lyrics

In verses it will be,
Unspoken it was, as it were unseen
For it has yet been witnessed by neither wolf nor passerine. (Bird)
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 had bestowed
In its voice it rang as a beholder, the witness, whistling to wakе an audience.
Given a purposе, true and grand, the meadowlark brought fables to fields that mirrored its golden heart
It was then they rose with the sun, from below the humming groves came forth the mother trees: “The Four Cradles”.
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. They who wield wonder: the “Wonderfolk”.

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.
And the Croon is a tempest, dishonoring stillness, daughtering disharmony.

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.” And with that final verse delivered, goodbyes were sealed. This is a song of origin my farewells to the fields.
{MY FAREWELL TO THE FIELDS}
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 (goat).
The conifers twirled, yet the cervid (deer) stayed quiet.
Music swung along with the crowd as they riot!
Be all ears! For the Lark is willed, with Songs of Origin: from huts to cages, from house to hills.
{BIRDCAGE BLUE AND YELLOW}
Hear ye, I say, as I sing to you my plight to choose.
{TO DOUSE A SCALDED TONGUE}
{KAMAHALAN}
Seldom if at all, do the Harkers themselves cross paths.
The Four Cradles purposely have kept them apart as a means of traversing greater land, called in for an accordance to when and where they were 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.
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.
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 is not much the audience knew about each witness, even the Storyteller, who was born incapable of telling a lie, have its words misshapen.
As the 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, but mostly, a rhyme chanted in the form of a clapping game.
{HARPY HARE}
{COLE’S RESPONSE}
{HEARKEN}