A Dulcimer’s Fancy

Starshot, halo-bound
So laying me out
You got flaxen wings of hayseed
And something under your arm

And may I please touch
Your fancy tattered cloak
Were its holes divinely fabricated
Or were they eaten out by a moth?

...Eaten out by a moth? (Repeat)

What's that beautiful instrument that you bear?
You did not design that by chance
You were touching a dulcimer's fancy

A Dulcimer's Fancy (Touching a dulcimer's fancy)