In an ancient world where night held sway,
Lived Mayra,a bard, a hare so renowned.
Through dark and light,she dreamed of death's array,
Of secrets buried,in a different ground,
Where departed souls their final peace have found.

Oh Mayra, what secrets in your chimes reside,
As your skilled hand makes the panpipes glide.
The wind whispers words,a spell it starts to weave,
With phantoms in the breath of the eve...

A hat walked in the shop, just dust and mites,
A scroll asleep on a shelf,revealing rites.
A spell of life and death,my legacy's own,
The scroll with me has silently flown...

Oh Mayra, what secrets in your chimes reside,
As your skilled hand makes the panpipes glide.
The wind whispers words,a spell it starts to weave,
With phantoms in the breath of the eve...

A blink of an eye, a corpse's voice she'd hear,
The whole graveyard rose,silencing fear.
And in her heart,no matter the fright,
An otherworldly gift lived with passion's light.

Oh Mayra, what secrets in your chimes reside,
As your skilled hand makes the panpipes glide.
The wind whispers words,a spell it starts to weave,
With phantoms in the breath of the eve...