Ethir Anduin The Invisible Veil Of The Cold Silence

In rows, flashing their feet, the sons begin to dance a quadrille
The first son, or is it the first pair, says
Please do tell us dear father
What is this thing called Frother
And the second son, or is it the second pair, says
Maybe Frother is a tether,
A teether or a head in feathers
Then the third son, or is it the third pair
I cant understand O father
Where is Frother? What is Frother?
The father, flashing his eyes, moans menacingly
O I wallow in pillows!
The first son
Father, I pallow in willows
You must not die
Before you ply reply
The second son, dancing like a loyal subject
O Frother, Frother, Frother
O father, father, father
Finally the third son, dancing like a gunshot
Dolls and dunce caps have burned out,
I’m a boat a boat a bout
The sons stop dancing, because it cant all be fun and games, can it
They sit mutely and quietly by their fathers expired bed
They look into his wilting eyes
They wish to repeat everything
The father is dying
He becomes fleshy like a bunch of grapes
We are terrified to look into his, so to speak, face
The sons say nothing as each of them enters his own superstitious wall